Army Men: Plastic Soldiers Please Review!
by Fynix
Summary: A literary adaptation of the classic video game Army Men. In this epic ordeal, Sergeant Gurdeaux, a well known soldier of the Green Army, goes head first into the heart of the Tan menace.
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

My name is Sergeant Felix Anthony Gurdeaux. I've been fighting this war for years, fifteen to be exact. It's between my country, the Green Nation, and the Tan Nation. The history between the Green and Tan people has always included hostility. Those men whom I shoot at on the battlefield are nothing more than an unworthy adversary.

The other nations, the Blue, Red, Grey, Yellow, Orange, White and Black, haven't bothered to help fight with us. They are practically waiting for us to all die so they can then decide what to do with our land. These nations are truly intelligent.

Few military leaves and few silent days have been included in my military career but plenty of injuries have plagued it. Hundreds of thousands of dead bodies have also managed to be part of my life; I wish it would have stopped a long time ago. My injuries spread throughout every corner of my body and mind. Most I've recovered from but some never leave. The mind is a dangerous thing when it is haunted and tormented by the fast and uncertain future. Some claim and speculate that each individual has a cell in the brain that, when encountered with enough trauma and anxiety, breaks apart, creating a chain reaction that inevitably renders the host unstable and mentally handicapped. I have yet to break my cell.

I thought this war would be over in a matter of weeks, months at the most, with an armistice and then eventually a treaty like all the other wars. But it didn't. This was a different war. This was a real war, one that would prove to be unsettling and have no end in sight. As some would refer to it, this was the war to end all wars, a massive encounter of good versus evil, with no clear side being designated the title.

Only few truly know how it all started and luckily I am one of them. I remember the day as though it's played in front of my eyes constantly, a motion picture with a small audience. I see 

each frame of every second whiz by my pupil and each minute detail can be described as the movie gets projected.

I was at Green Base 34, an outpost located in the Grinn Desert, west of the Green city Quloff, which is far west of my nation's capital, the city of Fier. The only casualties reported were the wild animals we used for target practice; bunnies were the preferred choice. It was dusk with crisp air filling the barren turf. I was training a recruit to use a scoped rifle, an SR35, when I was disturbed by a messenger. He said I was needed at once to accompany the commanding officer, General Malist, one of the leading generals of the entire Green army. I met him and was led to an escort chopper, an EC8, equipped with an eager pilot and a radio. I viewed this procedure of my superior, to lead me onto a chopper for a meeting, strange. I soon thought nothing of it; perhaps just some new assignment for their top gun and it had to be kept private. Or in the worst case it was a new form of briefing me just before I was dropped into a zone to perform a new mission.

We were airborne in seconds. Minutes went by without any words exchanged. I could feel an askew vibe, but I bothered not to open my mouth. If I needed to be informed, someone would eventually tell me. He looked at me occasionally but never spoke. A little smile here and there was the only response I could get out of him. I had learned long ago never to open my mouth until a superior opened his. It was a Green Army custom to let the boss talk and listen. If you had something to say then you could speak after hearing the vital information come from the source.

After half an hour, the sun settled behind the short desert hills to my right, and that was when I witnessed the start. A flash burst from the ground, just left of the western horizon. It was like a white light bulb, quickly turned on and slowly dimmed for my enjoyment. Malist turned to 

me and said, "They've committed a preemptive strike against your base. We had gotten word that this was going to happen from a spy so we pulled you out. Half of all our bases in this part of the world are going to be hit. We've gotten many evacuated but casualties will be high. We are at war."

I later found out General Sirus, leader of the Tan Nation and a major factor in leading the Tan Army, was behind the attack which vaporized my comrades. I suddenly asked, "Why'd they strike? Why they want war?" Malist's reply was simple. "They've always wanted war because they fear our military strength."

I stared at Malist as his focus switched from my confused eyes to papers in his hand and the radio echoing in his right ear. I had just watched young men, my men, sacrificed so more could be thrown into caskets. I had tuned my eyes into focusing on what had just become the beginning to total devastation. The more I think about it, the more I question, "_Why was I spared a quick death_?"

Malist's response of them fearing our military strength never, even for a slight second, convinced me. Fear was not an option to carefully enact a full-scale operation to make a war happen between two powers. It was a bogus reason and excuse. I've never gotten the truth as to why it all happened, but I know it will come to me one day. I learned that true soldiers never question, only perform their duties. It's a flaw that must be fixed but as of right now, I am not complaining. I kill the enemy and do my job; what more can a soldier do?

Green troops and Tan troops invaded the open space that separated the two nations: Waste Land. This area was placed precisely between my former base GB 34 and a neighboring Tan city Shizerkor. It contained every form of mountains and hills and plains, but not many civilians. More animals such as cows and wolves could be found than any human life. It was a 

buffer zone that became a war zone. Many battles had been fought on the land in the distant past: few ever changing the outcome of a nation.

Unfortunately I was sent north of the desert to the tundra, landscaping the roots of the trees of the Hork Forest, which lay at the base of the Yuto Mountains, a very long range of ice-capped peaks. I spent three years there and never went bored for a day, let alone a frozen moment. The Hork Forest campaigns, where I was sent first, became well known and successful. As a show of gratitude, they renamed the campaigns after me. The Felix Campaigns, along with what soon became known as my Felix Legions, were some of the Green Army's finest hours.

I remember my first battle. I was on top of a cliff with three other guys, covered in snow trying my best to stay still. I heard commotion below. Someone shouted. I looked over and saw Tan helmets uncovered with their snow camouflage. I began shooting down on the Tan patrol unit. We killed all of them. I didn't refer to it as a battle, but my commander said otherwise. I soon learned that anytime a shot was fired, a battle had waged. However, I always thought more logically than those around me. I soon regarded offensive fights as ambushes, attacks, skirmishes, assaults and invasions. Anything resembling a defensive measure was called survival. An ambush was a cheap-shot, an attack was a shoot and run away tactic, a skirmish was an unplanned meeting between foes, an assault was a real battle involving planning, and an invasion was the real deal.

No nation had ever attempted an invasion. The risk behind it was to enormous. For the Tan Nation to invade would leave their North and South borders weakened, allowing the superior Green Navy to embark on a dominating quest, plunging deep into Tan waters. If the Green Nation invades, the North, South and East borders would be left wide open for all other plastic nations to walk in and take what they wanted. The Tan and other nations never fully 

agreed to a treaty, but I and all the others in the military never doubted the potential threat posed around our borders. My nation isn't land locked but what isn't touching water is surrounded by another nation.

Months went by, then years with men hurled at the lines, ditched into trenches, sliced into barbed wire and melted by fire. I, a Sergeant, commanded the new recruits that were dispatched at my privilege, turning them from fresh meat to stone heroes. By the time I was done with a batch, they were either dead, or wanting more blood.

As a sergeant I commanded up to fifty men at a time. A platoon in our army also went by the title of a legion. Young boys were the first to be sent my way. In my first week in the forest, pinched in a snowy foxhole, I lost six men. I received replacements but lost twelve by the end of the next week. My superiors liked my statistics though. According to my army's sources, my men and I accounted for over seven hundred kills within the first month of the war; I had only lost twenty nine.

Every time a soldier of mine went away in a body bag I would take a shot of liquor we call Morph. The titles of our liquor pertain to their effects. Morph makes you feel of a different species. It can really make you freak out but quickly leaved your system.

I soon ran out of Morph and nobody in my platoon had any after the first three months. The army decided to end all shipping of liquor, except to the high ranks of course. But I still tried to get away from the personal loss. It's hard bleeding with a man and getting to live the next day while seeing him zipped up and flown off into a cemetery where his mother and father cry wondering why him and why now.

However, when I was done in the north I had only lost eight hundred men, while they and I killed over 96,000. We were good shots and somehow always had ammo. At least the army did that right.

We were always close to defeat, always outnumbered, outgunned, out bombed, but we always stood our ground, never walking backward when it seemed smart or convenient. However, every time we had an opportunity to go on the offensive and strike hard at the Tan lines, we were simply told to hold our ground and wait for them to come. I could never understand how ignorance could be superior to intelligence in the military, but I guess my opinion had no merit in those decisions. We did however eventually move into the mountains and captured quite a bit of territory, so much so that we stationed several thousand troops with the Tan border. To this day we still control that land.

After a very successful campaign that lasted three years and took 5.8 million lives, on my nation's side of the forest alone, I was switched to an outpost in the Dirian, a southern marshland, littered with deep and treacherous swamps that stretched for hundreds of miles and caused chaos like no other. To see five feet in front of you meant it was a good day. Friendly fire was always a problem that even I eventually got over and rarely feared during a battle. After three years, I was granted military leave, a solid week, and ordered to desert.

Nostalgia is a weird feeling, something only carnage and bad memories can truly bring about. I find it ironic how the horrifying side of war is also its beautiful essence; war looks ugly but when experienced feel amazing. Your heart races with every step you take, especially when a bullet goes over your head and hits the man behind you. You constantly ask yourself, "How am I alive?" but move on to more important matters such as whether or not you can chuck a grenade 

to where that unlucky bastard is standing. The day you almost die is the day you start living; there's nothing to fear anymore.

The desert was never boring. Since my skin is green I rarely ventured out on missions but the Tan were always patrolling the pebbles of camouflaging and blending into the hills. I lost more men in three years from sniper fire in the desert than from my entire campaign in the Hork Forest.

I had done my time in the forest, the mountains, the swamps and other geographical formations but the desert really took a toll on me. The unbearable heat and constant night battles took away my identity as a relaxed man with a loaded gun. I was always on constant alert. Sometimes the desert plays tricks on you and sometimes it's actual people. For these reasons I never slept more than three hours a day. I left behind the horrors, another three years of my life and another three million men to lie in desert. Compared to the twelve million in the swamps, most of which were never found, I think my nations did well.

Wherever my nation's army needed help, I was called upon for assistance. I had scaled mountains, dove into foxholes, but the most fun and scary action occurred when I was sent to help clean the streets in neighboring cities of the Wasteland, whether in the southern, western or northern regions of both Green and Tan territory.

Civilian casualties were very rare for prior to the war all nations signed the Soldier Only Pact and operated under the Civilian Code, but that didn't stop opposing forces to enter neighborhoods and city structures to gain ground for sniper fire and ambushes. The terms outlined made it clear that civilians were not to be intentionally harmed, whether by guns or bombs. This portion of my life lasted three long years. For some reason, each chapter of my war-

life seemed to last three long years. Three years in the forest and tundra of the Yuto Mountains, the Dirian, the Grinn Desert, plus the street-cleaning added up to twelve long years.

During this period of constant moving, an amazing discovery was announced. I can't remember the group of scientists that made this possible, but about eight years ago men using whatever science at hand built a passage system to an alternate world, or parallel universe. Though all the top officials insisted it was by accident, I had my doubts. These systems were soon called "Get-Aways" by those who no longer wished to fight in our world. The new turf they stepped on soon received the title of "The New World", making ours "Our World" or the "Old World".

One would walk through a water-fall-like circle and would end up in all sorts of things. It seemed that when one jumped into the Get-Aways they would pop out of no where and fall. Some broke bones landing on hard surfaces. Everyone who went in did so at their risk, knowing aware of the consequences, the risks and the unfortunate demise of never returning back home. A few, so much that I could count on one hand, were found alive but looked starved, scared and psychologically damaged. There was no explanation for how we had managed to get into this foreign land, let alone the reason why, but I bet the secret would be revealed in time.

When one would go through the portal, they would wind up in the same area. This area was full of houses, backyards and furniture. Sometimes giant creatures resembling those in our world would be found. If provoked, they weren't merciful. Insects, birds and trees, exactly like those in our home world, were found. But nothing looking like our plastic bodies was found, let alone looked for. It was best for those in the New World to let the discoveries come to them, rather than chasing them. Plastic, like that in the materials we use in Our World, were more then plentiful. But the plastic which are bodies were made off were never found.

A year after discovering this breath-taking technology and using it for this and that, the scientists and generals finally got a hand on controlling the system and securing a safe journey and began sending in troops by the thousands. The scientists had found a secure rift in the plane of the world's dimension and exploited it.

When forts and outposts went up, being built out of a giant brick-like material we found in closets and bins called LEGO, scientists then went in and built passage-ways that connected to the ones in Our World. LEGO was everywhere and I loved the simplicity of LEGO bricks. You snapped them on their circular protrusions and held together without any need for an adhesive or reinforcement. Everything looked to be going in our favor. We had an invisible transportation system and it looked good.

While in the New World commanders had to be informed through paper via messengers on news and military movements, for no radio could contact any person in Our World, at least at the beginning of what was called portal running. Generals were being kept in the dark of what was occurring on the battlefield as they set up forces and strongholds in the houses they had claimed.

It was kept the highest secret until a mole leaked it to our foe. From what I heard he was given the normal execution: shot by five men, all with normal rounds and no blanks. Soon, it was a two-front war. Soldiers poured into these gateways, most of them never returning. At first the Tan soldiers who went in were shot or captured. But after a while, some slipped by our security and then built their own Get-Aways. The blueprints for the portal systems were then made available to every scientist in our world, no matter what color of skin. They could now easily be built in the new world and then used help supply troops in any corner, at any position. System-building definitely made the war in the New World a challenge.

With each new system, we could wind up in a different house or street, never being able to contact our comrades for help. Tan portals linked up to those in Our World, making everything chaotic. Our systems, and those of the Tan military, were hacked occasionally. Green soldiers would sometimes jump into a portal in the New World and wind up inside a Tan base in Our World. It took a while but secretly the Green portals were redesigned to only follow certain paths while teleporting people and items. This crossing of paths soon ended, either because the Tan solved their own problem or because they eventually gave up… no one knows for sure. What is known is that Tan portal transportation is now a rarity.

Once assigned to go through you were destined to die in the New World. There were very, very few exceptions for returning to the known world. The most common way was through a body bag. The New World contained everything that existed in our home world, except bigger. It was as though a giant object or creature created everything and left no trace of his existence.

No one was brave enough to go around searching for answers, or ways to end the fighting in this new place, alone that is. Even I didn't have the courage to step up and risk everything at first when I came through the portal for I still dreamed of an ending to this war and desperately wanted to see it. It will come about but no one knows when or how. After a week in the new place I went out on a scouting report by myself. I came back unscathed but had a newfound respect for the structures that surrounded me.

I was sent in about three years ago and have never returned, even for a minute, to the old world. I haven't seen my home world in over six years and yet sometimes I don't care. It is as if I have lost complete interest in my past life for I am always focusing on the present and my duties. My family and friends, whether they are still alive, may have already forgotten about me. But the fact is I will try my best to see them at least one more time before I die. When I go home, I'll buy 

an apartment in the capital city of Fier, or move to the countryside and buy a home in the town of Irin, and take care of a dog, a Labrador perhaps, or a Basset Hound.

I've killed thousands, tens of thousands, and anyone who dares to challenge me on those stats can go screw themselves. All the men who fought alongside me and/or have fallen would agree that I am telling the truth. It is mainly for them that I fight, for I take on responsibility for their loss. The fact that they died under my command only makes me fight harder and the fact that more will die under my orders should only signal to me to die fighting against my foe. I must continue my reign, my barrage, my campaign against my sworn enemy. Only until I am shot down may I finally rest in peace.

Now commander of Sector Besa or Sector 2, one of the bloodiest sectors in all of the New World, I can honestly say no soldier is afraid of death, but afraid of dying without killing someone first.


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1: Landscaping**

Gurdeaux leaned forward through a thick patch of solid green grass. His hand caressed the grass, like the hair of loved woman. Wrinkles on his hand and wrists came out of hiding as he let his guard down and immersed himself into the sun. The sun, now in the middle of the sky, began to heat Gurdeaux's appendage quickly. Providing enough shade, the grass made camouflage for him and the others in his group. Many of the men behind him were of low ranks, privates and corporals. Although there were a few lieutenants, it didn't make a huge difference. In all, forty of the fifty men had never or had barely seen combat.

The sun beamed down and brightened Gurdeaux's jacket. As a sergeant his uniform included the normal: a jacket, pants and helmet. All were darker, like his skin. The privates, corporals and lieutenants wore lighter Green colors, lighter than their skin, matching the grass pigment. Their naked bodies would easily blend into the foliage. Only their rank insignias on their right shoulder allowed for them to be told apart from a distance. To the Tan soldiers that lay out in the field, ranks never mattered: only head counts.

Gurdeaux's darker uniform color, darker than the grass he was surrounded by, gave him the sense of loneliness and superiority. His uniform was stained with many things: blood, food, paint and other fluids. But his rank insignia and name label still managed to stay intact and visible. His name clung above his heart on his left side, but stitched on his right arm was the sign of his experience and skill in battle: the rank insignia.

It was a square with an upside-down silver sword in the middle. A black line sewn horizontally behind the sword touched both sides while the sword touched the top and bottom borders. Yellow filled the top left and bottom right squares made by the embroidery while red 

painted in the remaining two. Surrounding the logo of superiority was a black outline, thick and tough enough to withstand any form of deterioration.

The privates, at least First Privates (the guys who were to be the best of the newly drafted men), wore the same size square but with a diagonal black line, reaching the bottom left and top right corners, that also laid on top of a yellow background. But now was not the time to focus on keen details; the enemy could attack at any second.

He gently pushed the grass aside to glance at what was in front of him. He saw nothing, just a dirt mound, but he kept watching. He focused more on the mound and squinted when he realized, it was a pillbox. A solid dirt-made pillbox was lying in front of his position, blended with the ground and sitting on a firm battle ground. Sitting no more than thirty yards away from his body was an imminent death, should his presence be detected.

There was the obvious trail of footprints leading to the defense structure that he had noticed before, seeing it as just another left behind mark of the for, but now he could use it as a means for accuracy should he have to throw a grenade. Or if he needed a moment to laugh, send a frightened private to inspect the enemy position; most privates would piss themselves should they even get close to a Tan soldier.

Slowly, Gurdeaux lowered his body back to a prone position, crawling backwards and then faced the platoon behind him. The opening of the box faced away from him, but it wasn't enough to take a chance.

He slid down from the mound he had just poked his head above and landed safely on the base of the crater where his men were waiting patiently. It wasn't a crater, to say the least, but it a rim edged along most of the sides, offering plenty of protection, unless and ambush from behind occurred.

"Klims," he called, "get HQ on the radio and tell them we need a small air strike on that box. A hundred pound gabby ought to do the trick." Gurdeaux kept looking at the pillbox, looking for any movement.

Gabbies were small bombs that could be attached to any aircraft and were sometimes implemented on the battlefield by commanders, the naïve ones. Having a weapon made one cocky; having to make yourself a target to move it around made one nervous.

Behind Gurdeaux sat the private, Klims, holding onto his gun with both hands against his chest. He sat below the little hill Gurdeaux now crawled down from. Rocks and little clumps of dirt continued to loosen off the soil as the sergeant took off his helmet and wiped sweat from his forehead.

The private's feet trembled as his dark-shaded brown eyes stared off into the soil. His eyes were focused on what seemed to be nothing but a rock. Sweating profusely, the dirt underneath him became wet. Gurdeaux turned to face the young soldier and checked behind him. He saw that the radio was still on the ground, lying flat next to the private's feet. "Klims, did you hear me?" asked Gurdeaux. There was no response from the young soldier.

Gurdeaux sent his right arm at Klims' helmet, hitting the side and knocking it over. Taken off guard, Klims let go of his gun and grabbed onto his helmet, catching it in mid-air as it almost bounced off the ground. He started to breathe heavily and sweat more. "Private Klims," Gurdeaux said. His voice was becoming more agitated as the private continued to act more childish than manly. Turning to his right, Klims saw the sergeant. The sun, held up in the sky behind Gurdeaux's helmet, almost made a complete silhouette. His face went into the darkness of mystery, only exacerbating the tension and fears of death plaguing the boy's mind.

"Son," started Gurdeaux a more mellow voice, "get on the radio and call HQ. Tell them to drop a Gabby on that pillbox. Do you have a map?" the sergeant asked. Private Klims nodded and reached into his pocket. When he pulled out his hand, in his palm laid a folded and tattered piece of paper. "Do you know what our exact position is?" Gurdeaux questioned. "Yes….sir. We are at Sector 2, Territory 9, Grid Box 13, Lines 4.5 and 3.6," replied the privates. His sweat kept coming out of his pours, and was beginning to moisten the paper.

"Tell them to send a BP4 bomber plane to S2, T9, G13, and L4.5 dash 3.7". Klims nodded and dropped the piece of paper. As it drifted silently to the ground, the private grabbed a hold of the radio and turned the radio dial to the proper channel. As the transmission went under way, Gurdeaux grabbed his canteen, unscrewed the cap and with a quick thrust of his wrist took a few sips. Using his empty right hand, he lifted himself off the dirt mound he had positioned himself at and went over to his other men.

Many had their guns in their hands, while a few left them on the ground. All were loaded though, with unused magazines. Each bullet was fresh, begging to be fired at a limb or torso.

As Gurdeaux walked over to the men and kept taking sips of his canteen, men started to have conversations with each other. Seeing the leader must have brightened the situation, and made the circumstances less prone to death. After all, if the leader is getting up in a casual manor, what's there to fear?

Gurdeaux's tranquil demeanor and presence made all the nervous ideas fade away. His tall stature, higher than anyone else in the platoon, gave him even more respect.

As he continued to walk, Gurdeaux could see a man, grabbing onto his shin. A blood-soaked bandage wrapped around his wound and his heaves of pain flew out of his mouth. Gurdeaux came to his side and squatted. "Do you need more painkillers?" he asked. "No sir, I 

just need some rest," the corporal replied. "Well, when we're done with this backyard check-up, we'll all go back in the house and take it easy." Gurdeaux smiled at the soldier, ending his outbursts of pain. His hands still clung onto his shin but his face relaxed. The veins in his fingers were begging to leap out. They puffed and swelled to enormous proportions, grabbing more attention than the gunshot wound Gurdeaux suspect the man had received.

Gurdeaux checked his insignia: on his right arm was a patch with a black-outlined square, stitched with metallic red and a smaller, but perfectly proportioned, black square in the center. He was a corporal and with any luck his injury would keep him out of service for a month or two.

"You did good back at the fence. We had to clear the way and you took a shot. If it wasn't for you, standing on top of the little rock in front of me, I would have died." "Thank you sir. I just want to get home. Hopefully this wound will allow for some time home, maybe not indefinitely but surely a few months."

Injuries and open wounds led many to get infected in the New World. Not many died, and it took a huge sustainment of injuries to get close to a fatal infection, but the army, at least the Green Army, never took chances, something that separated them from the counterparts.

Gurdeaux walked away from the corporal and headed back to Klims. As the sergeant reached the private, the young soldier had something he eagerly wanted to speak. "Sir," Klims whispered to Gurdeaux. The sergeant kept his steps silent as his approached neared. Clumps of dirt and rocks crackled beneath his boots but nothing to draw attention emerged from his stride. "Colonel Toole says that we must take the box and all other targets in the area by ourselves. He won't grant us air support sir." Gurdeaux looked back at the hill, blocking the obstacle ahead, and envisioned his men taking it out. Although no other Tan troops had been spotted in the area, 

if any lurked around they would definitely know that there was a squad near them should the pillbox be taken.

Gurdeaux and his men had first cleared out a small pocket of Tan soldiers near the eastern fence earlier in the afternoon. There the corporal sustained his leg injury. Had Toole allowed a gabby to drop no one would have gotten injured. Six Tan were killed but the rest in the nearby area became alert. Whoever lay inside the pillbox most definitely knew someone, most likely a group of people he was trained to kill, lurked in the neighboring foliage.

No matter what the Tan in the area would discover even more of the presence of Green soldiers, but with the air support, at least Gurdeaux was assured that the enemy combatants would think twice before attacking or advancing. They'd go on the defensive measure, something they didn't do very well with few numbers.

Gurdeaux faced Klims and tossed his canteen aside. "Radio in again and don't take no for an answer. I'm not going to lose people today," responded the sergeant.

Gurdeaux reached for his rifle, lying flat on the dry dirt by the base of the mound. On all sides of him and his men was an incline, a shallow but ditch like circular buildup of dirt that provided more than enough protection and cover. Atop the crater-like shape they sat in was grass. It went deep into this forest of a backyard they were now planted in to defend. Many didn't realize the vulnerability they had agreed to fight in. If the Tan were to stumble upon their position, a single roll of a grenade into the pile of green suits could spell a serious disaster and defeat to Gurdeaux and his men. But Gurdeaux knew that any action in war constituted taking chances, whether it is on the low ground of the high ground.

His gun was a standard assault rifle, an AZ-40. It carried the biggest cartridge of all Green rifles, having a load of 60 bullets ready to be dispensed into Tan flesh. Gripping it in his 

left hand, he had a brief flashback of previous operations where he used the gun repeatedly. Men in all directions were shot by him as his bullets were accurately fired and struck their targets.

Gurdeaux swung the rifle over his shoulder, clinching the strap firmly in his hand, and tucked it behind his back. It clanked against some other equipment pieces, such as his pistol and spare grenades, but again nothing to be noticed.

A standard soldier carried the same supplies. The jacket had pockets on the chest side, a half-circle green helmet that covered quite a good portion of the neck, a pair of pants with pockets on both sides and knife holders wrapped around the shin or ankle in case of hand-to-hand combat. Sometimes the men asked for the knife holder to be sewn into the belt, in case they had to rig their gun with a bayonet. All guns were capable of this but Gurdeaux only used the bayonet in heated times. Standard patrols like the one he was currently on did not call for such extreme measures.

Around the waste was a belt that some deemed like a utility belt. One could place pistols, grenades, spare clips and other devices into the single piece of durable light-green leather. Pouches and pockets, designed specifically for anything a soldier could need, made this a wonder belt. Many soldiers enjoyed the usefulness of the belt that came with their uniforms. Canteens, radios, extra clips, mines, lunch boxes, medical kits and many other items of significant importance or relevance to a foot soldier could easily slide into place in an open sleeve.

The only thing that made those of higher ranks different from those of the subordinates positions were the colors of their uniforms, insignia patches, sometimes the rifles and sometimes the jacket. Those of the rank of Marshall and further up wore caps instead of helmets, and wore darker uniforms, cementing their importance. They were almost black instead of green. Gurdeaux had extra rings and tiny clips placed onto his jacket so he could carry extra grenades. 

They would be strapped in by a small piece of lace, much like a shoe or boot, or hung by the pins that were pulled for detonation. Trailing the lace was a metal "jaw" that would magnetically cling and tighten with the mirror counterpart.

Realizing Klims had not responded he reached at his heart and with his right hand he then pulled off a grenade from his chest, releasing the magnetic attraction between the jaws of his clip. Gurdeaux had three left, two on the right and still one clinging below his ribcage. Klims kept chattering into the black box and the others in the back began to prepare. Each one got off their behinds and crouched or stood on a knee; there could have been no clearer sign of an imminent fight.

Gurdeaux let his right hand holding the grenade drop to his side as he turned to face Klims once again. Klims shook his head as the voice on the other end went on and on with meaningless jargon. Thankfully the static only confirmed what Gurdeaux had already guessed.

The sergeant swiveled around and took several steps back from the mound. He stood amidst his men. "Alright guys get ready," he said silently. The platoon clutched their rifles as Gurdeaux walked back to the mound. It was going to happen.

He took several steps up the side to get a fresh memory of where and how to throw his little bomb. His helmet went over the top, as did his eyes, but he placed his left hand in front of his chest and on the top of the rim of dirt so in case of an attack he could push off the dirt and avoid any potential headshots.

He glared at the box, squinting with anger. Slowly he brought the nade to his face. Gurdeaux pulled the pin with his teeth, lobbed the grenade, ducked and waited. It landed on the dirt and bounced to the side of the viewing hole in the box. The wide but thin slit for anyone 

inside to look through was about to be blown wide open. Whoever sat inside was about to get an unannounced surprise.

Swinging his rifle from his shoulder, Gurdeaux held it to his face and slowly accented to only having his face view the bunker. His helmet barely stood above the line of dirt but his eyes could see perfectly. Gurdeaux only hoped his arm or hand hadn't been seen as he tossed the round surprise. He eyed the bunker through the sight on his rifle. The scope of an AZ-40 had a red dot centered to get better and deadlier accuracy, but even through all the years of combat, experience and lessons, Gurdeaux felt more comfortable with the normal metal circle placed on top and in the middle of the rifle.

In an instant, at least as it appeared to Klims, he had thrown ducked, armed and emerged in a ready-stance. Only his eyes, forehead and the tip of his gun could be seen over the dirt mound. The thick grass obscured his vision of the pillbox, but Gurdeaux knew that if anything happened, he'd see it, let alone hear it.

As the fuse burned, he stood still. Should anyone hear the explosion and come to the aid of the pillbox, Gurdeaux wanted to make sure that none would be able to return fire or cause disruption and injury to his men.

BOOM!

An explosion sent dirt flying at Gurdeaux. Rocks and grass jumped in the air, scattering below the sky and casting shadows over the platoon. The ground shook, making some soldiers reach for the dirt with widely stretched fingers. The webbing between their digits took its toll as the men dug deep into the soil. With their other hand they either held onto their rifles or touched the tops of their helmets.

The hill in front of Gurdeaux shortened as the blow from the explosion washed away the top layer. Everything settled quickly. His arms and hands were now exposed to the rest of the backyard.

As the debris fell down, Gurdeaux held his ground and kept watching. Nothing happened, nothing moved. A giant hole now stood where the side of the box once was. The structure didn't collapse but it was now rendered useless.

Seconds went by before birds could be heard chirping in the trees. Then, an arm stretched out of the hole and clawed into the dirt. Emerging from the dark shadows was a badly burned arm and hand, with its skin falling off and flesh still burning from the explosion.

The hand gripped the dirt as more and more of the arm became visible. As the arm grew longer, more of the body came out. Following the arm was a partially clothed shoulder, then a cut open neck and finally the head of the Tan soldier.

His helmet was gone and part of his scalp had singed off. Green grenades were notorious for packing incendiary powder and chemicals. If the blast didn't kill them, they'd suffer from the loss of flesh and body tissue; then they'd die.

The Tan soldier moaned in agony from his wounds. Gurdeaux couldn't see them directly, but watching the man grab his stomach and hiss with torment made him guess that the shrapnel pierced his torso and abdomen. The neck looked badly hurt but the head remained atop his shoulders. He had been sitting to close to the viewing slot of the pillbox, and for this the Tan soldier was paying the ultimate price.

Gurdeaux looked on as some of his platoon began inching toward him to see what had happened. Keeping his gun raised, the sergeant dropped his right arm down to his waste, waved the men back and lifted it back atop the mound. He wasn't taking any chances.

This soldier was in serious pain. His legs swung over the debris and fell onto the ground. He had made it out of the wreckage, but it didn't make a difference. Unlike getting off a sinking boat and swimming to shore, this poor boy was going no where and had to chance to survive.

The loud thud of his legs smashing into the soil made him yell with pain. His body rolled into the softly dug crater and sank below the debris by a few inches. "AHHHHH!" he cried. Both legs were black and missing chunks of plastic. His flesh was somewhere or gone. Either way it didn't matter.

Gurdeaux began wondering if any of his medics inside the house would be able to help the man. When the corporal took a shot to the shin the only medical kit Gurdeaux brought with, in fact the only one his platoon was allowed, was used up. Nothing was left to use towards helping this poor boy. Much of his upper body remained in tact with little damage.

But when the soldier rolled over onto his back, Gurdeaux could see what he had done. A massive cut into the man's stomach could be seen, stretching from the collarbone to the hip. Part of the soldier's intestines dangled over his chest. There was absolutely no way to save this man now. Blood was bleeding all around, coming from under the soldier's body. The dirt was becoming darker as more and more of his veins drained.

The troop screamed louder and louder, gurgling as his words choked on the blood rushing up his neck. His fate was determined by Gurdeaux and the sad part was he didn't get to fire a single shot at the sergeant. It would have been nice for the lone Tan soldier to have not died alone, but Gurdeaux knew all too well life isn't always pleasant.

In a period of time lasting no more than ten seconds, Gurdeaux viewed his costly decision. Gurdeaux anticipated returning fire but none came. Only the screaming of the soldier came as a result of the grenade. He clutched his torso, pressing his hands firmly on the wounds. 

Pieces of intestine lodged between his fingers and began squeezing out over his knuckles. He trembled and began to cry. "HELP!!" he shouted, "HELP!!" The muffled words were too much for Gurdeaux to bear.

Deciding to end his torment, Gurdeaux shot once, ending the poor soldier's torment. A firm bullet to the head made the Tan soldier finally at peace. His body stilled, but blood continued to run and soak into the dirt.

The natural sounds of the outdoors came back. Bird chirps came into the ears of the Green soldiers. Covered in dust and dirt, Gurdeaux's vest and uniform seemed to belong to the enemies. He swatted off sweat from his forehead that had come about, unbeknownst to him. The heat was taking its effects. He needed more water, lots of water, to keep going. Drops of his sweat hit the dirt and soaked into the soil. Gurdeaux looked at his men. The whole bunch sat quiet, waiting for him to say something.

Gurdeaux turned at Klims. "Did Toole respond?" he asked. "No sir. He says to keep advancing." Soldiers around Gurdeaux let their heads fall in disappointment. Advancement meant noise, which meant being heard, which then meant being spotted and killed, which meant having to identify, pack and seal, and then transport a body. But because of Gurdeaux's grenade, a new foothold was attainable. They now lived to fight another minute, breath another gallon of fresh air into their lungs……….or so they thought.

Without warning, a mortar shell landed in the back of the group, sending limbs left and right. A dust cloud burst out into the air, blinding some of the others near the impact. The circle of grass that grew around them bended over as the force pushed the fragile bodies from the impact.

Gurdeaux slumped down, covering his chest with his gun. His helmet leaned forward as it slipped off his head. The strap held it in place, but now his eyes were seeing nothing. Many of the troops were so afraid to move, they sat still. Inexperienced, their minds were not prone to thinking on the fly, or when duty called. Their heads shook, examining all the corners of the area, looking for a way to get out.

Another shell landed, and another, and another. They continued to land closer toward Gurdeaux, inching their way to his stance. A barrage was now raining down on the helpless soldiers. Holes began forming left and right. No one knew what to do. Again and again, a shell exploded on the troops. Gurdeaux realized he had to move. Bullets then started to fly from every direction.

Little zooming lights whizzed by the troops, mowing down those who dared to stand up. They were coming straight across in front of Gurdeaux's eyes. The enemy knew, or at least had a well educated guess, as to where their foes were. They could not see clear into the foliage but sprayed bullets around at the head and neck levels of the Green soldiers. The ridge of dirt surrounding them could only provide so much cover. It wasn't high enough to save them from bullets aimed at anything below the elbow.

No side was safe. Men ducked and crawled to get a better vantage point and hopefully return fire, but none made it more than a few feet. Clumps and chunks of their plastic blew off as the Green soldiers' bodies became riddled with plastic bullets.

One by one they fell, plunging into the soil. Gurdeaux could only watch as some fled away and disappeared into the darkness of the vegetation. They ran faster than the bullets that chased them, hurdling over the mound of dirt that had encamped them and falsely gave the sense of shielding. None looked back, and none cared about the others.

Screams of agony were let out as soldiers collapsed, piling in to one another in torment. At least twenty now laid flat on the ground, whether in one piece or in several. Shredded flesh could be seen, just lying beside the former owner. Severed limbs with burnt and jagged edges piled around the edges of the crater. More and more wounds were given by the Tan assault. Some were shut up with a generous head shot, while most lost a limb and waited for a final shot.

Gurdeaux looked down at Klims who was now on his knees with his hands above his head. Gurdeaux dropped his rifle and reached out for him, hoping to grab his collar and pull him to safety. A mortar then landed to Gurdeaux's right, knocking him to the ground.

Klims rolled over as his leader toppled on him. Gurdeaux's gun was tossed over his head, past the dirt mound and landed in a thick patch of grass. A hole now lay several yards from Gurdeaux's legs. He was fortunate the shrapnel laced inside the mortar hadn't tagged him, or he would be rendered futile to his nation's army.

A sudden tingling sensation crawled up his shins and knees, clawing further into his body. Gurdeaux's head rattled with vibration from the impact. He wanted to just fall down and close his eyes. A nap sounded good right now: a nice and easy way to make the echoing pain in his brain and body vanish.

Ringing came into both of Gurdeaux's ears as he glanced around at the sight of his men being massacred. The high pitched sound echoed and started to disturb his mental state of mind. All that was happening around him began to slow down. An explosion occurred next to a group of several dead men. Their lifeless limbs flew in all directions, cutting off the heads of the blades of grass.

As Gurdeaux regained his balance, things went slowly back to their normal speed. He put his hands in front of his face and saw transparent duplicates. His fake fingers waved and moved 

as did the real ones. They mimicked each action he did and started to confuse him. He looked up to see more dirt flying and little fires erupt in the grass. Gurdeaux was starting to wonder where he was. He blinked rapidly as more explosions continued to rain down near him.

He could feel his head growing and compressing all at the same time. Nothing was apparent. Nothing was definable. It all seemed distant and askew. All his attention then went to his feet as Klims grabbed a hold of them. Gurdeaux looked down and grabbed the scared private. Klims stood up to the sergeant's level as Gurdeaux brought him to his feet, making him crouch as he was now.

Glancing behind him Gurdeaux saw the mound. Klims eyed it as well and peered at Gurdeaux's eyes. In the reflection of the sergeant's pupils he could see the mound. Gurdeaux's face was almost admiring it from just inches away, waiting for it to give him a hint on what to do to carry on his mission and ensure someone would survive. Gurdeaux looked behind him and saw no other standing or moving soldier. The mortars still came down and broke the air, but none were landing at his position.

With both his hands on Klims' jacket, Gurdeaux tossed him over the mound. Klims landed hard on the other side and lay still, only letting his head get slightly off the dirt. The private started padding the ground with his hands, trying to push himself up to his feet so he could run away. His palms couldn't stay in one spot. The trembling veins and nerves made it so hard to keep focus and concentrate on such a little action as keeping his hands still.

Doubtful that the barrage would stop, Gurdeaux eyed the ground for any weapon he could find. A standard rifle lay next to a leg and crater. With quick reflexes he lunged and captured the rifle. Gurdeaux then turned around, breaking the wind with such strength and speed. He dodged over the mound and arrived next to Klims who was now on his knees with an AZ-13 

in his hands, the same model as Gurdeaux's; it had jettisoned over the dirt rim. The AZ-13 was an abysmal rifle, even with its modern updates, such as an attachable grenade launcher and attachable laser scope. It jammed a lot, caused frequent head aches on the battlefield and cost the Green Army countless amounts of money in manufacturing. Without thinking, Gurdeaux ran toward the blown-out bunker. Klims didn't budge but watched his leader move away from the chaos.

The sergeant raced for cover and jumped inside what was once a well protective bunker. His feet almost struck the decaying body of his kill but whistled over the limbs and small hole, landing into a dirt floor without losing a drop of balance. Gurdeaux crept inside and looked for a hole to look through. The viewing slit was now gone, crushed by the dilapidated roof, but on the opposite side were little wide holes, possibly created by the shrapnel pounding through the wood and mud from the explosion of the grenade.

Light gleamed through and shined onto his uniform. Gurdeaux crouched down and looked through the biggest slit. Past a thin bunch of grass was what he wanted to see. He could only see a few Tan helmets, but it was obviously much more meaningful than at first glance. A narrow walkway led straight to a trench filed with Tan men. There were no pebbles lining the path and no grass hung over and draped the alley. By the looks of it the men Gurdeaux could see were deploying mortar shells and machine gun fire. They had to be the ones killing Gurdeaux's men.

It all made sense now: the destruction of the bunker was easily detected by the Tan forces not more than one hundred yards away. Quickly judging the damage, they assumed that it had to have been done by a grenade, which meant the Green soldiers were close. Using a map or just having a very nice estimation on the whereabouts of the suspected enemy soldiers, they launched 

a surprise attack and took apart Gurdeaux's position. The sergeant was to blame for this massacre.

Gurdeaux wanted their blood, but all he possessed was a standard rifle, and the single clip loaded inside. His ammunition, the magazines attached to his waste, was rendered useless now for his gun was somewhere next to the mound but hiding in the grass. There was no time to star looking. Acting quickly, he looked for more firepower.

Discarding his rifle, he snapped his neck and hurried through the rubble. He scavenged around the bunker, hoping to find something useful. While rummaging for fire power, mortar shells continued to drill holes into the soil. It was relentless and the air was beginning to turn brown. The blue skies above Gurdeaux's head were disappearing and if he didn't act quickly, they'd disappear forever.

All the objects were covered in broken dirt and rocks. He turned over papers and shredded boxes. There appeared to be nothing. But as Gurdeaux leaned over to see the dead Tan soldier, he saw the perfect weapon. A machine gun that somehow survived the explosion lay still before the pile of rubble next to the solder. It lay behind the wall that Gurdeaux passed while running into the bunker. A string of bullets hung out and reached a few feet away from his boot. There seemed to be sixty or seventy small machine gun rounds hooked to one another, forming a heavy chain.

Gurdeaux walked over and picked up the machine gun. The rounds clinked against each other, making small chiming sounds. When Gurdeaux held it at his waist he looked over at Klims. He was now sitting with his back against the dirt. The private was rocking himself to a calm state with both arms covering his knees. "Klims, let's go!" ordered Gurdeaux, his voice protruding over some of the onslaught in the background.

Klims didn't move or give a hint of hearing his leader's shouting. Gurdeaux ran out of the pillbox and looked at his soldier one last time. Stopping only feet from him, Klims still remained silent, keeping his focus on the ground. Gurdeaux turned around and began making his way to the Tan troops.

Loaded and held, the machine gun traveled with Gurdeaux as he made his way to the soldiers ahead. Holding his ground would mean becoming vulnerable, something he couldn't afford right now. To stop would require cover and there were only blades of grass at his disposal. Gurdeaux didn't see any rocks on the ground big enough to shield his body and he couldn't wait for support. He didn't take cover. Seeing the enemy standing in trenches he knew that an ambush was the only way to fully win the battle and survive the day.

Faster and faster he hurried to them, hoping not to catch them off guard. Step by step dust flew up leaving a waist-high trail behind his path. Gurdeaux pushed forward and never left his target drift from his sight.

At last, after what seemed to be minutes, he arrived at his enemy. No grass stuck out any where in the small camp. Only small, cut and fresh pieces of green leaves stood in front of the trenches. From their angle it looked as though they had an almost straight shot to Gurdeaux's platoon's position; it was just slightly to their right.

There was less than forty, but enough to offer a challenge. Each one had a gun, spitting out shells from discharged bullets. So precise were their eyes on a target not visible, it was almost haunting. It was almost as if they were correctly guessing where the Green men were by looking through a magic crystal ball. To the near right, a team of Tan soldiers were operating mortars and kept firing, not letting up for even a split second. Set up in old fashion formation, the Tan built a three-sided defense trench system. It was basically cutting a hexagon in half, having 

three sides with two meeting points, keeping the men connected and allowing for a quite a well established defensive measure. Gurdeaux had arrived at the far left trench, and no more than two hundred feet to his right lay the far right trench. No one was looking in his direction.

Tents lined behind the soldiers in the far right trench, camouflaging with the grass like a chameleon. With no apparent officers' tent Gurdeaux admired the simplicity, for now it would be easier to destroy them. Gurdeaux stood and watched and yet no one noticed him. He was invisible for the moment but it wouldn't last.

The mortar team kept launching mortar after mortar. The sound must have bugged those in front of them as they crouched patiently to await any surviving Green men to come rushing at them.

With their bodies turned away from him Gurdeaux jumped into the beginning edge of the trench and opened fire. Bullets screamed out of the machine gun, piercing, shredding, and killing anything in their path. Tan soldiers, caught completely off guard, were mowed down without warning and succumbed to a quick and painless death. It took perhaps twenty Tan soldiers to fall before someone had a hint of an attack taking place. The noise from their mortar attack had caused the attackers to become naïve to any counterattack from their target.

Some turned to face the bullets hit them. Like the Green soldiers, some stood still. They were dumbstruck and paralyzed with amazement. They couldn't believe their lives were about to end. Few shots came his way, narrowly wounding his limbs and chest. One sliced a peel of plastic off his helmet. For some odd reason, the Tan soldier's aim was close for a change The Tan kept shooting and kept missing as the sergeant fired at them.

Gurdeaux kept his gun at his waist and guessed an appropriate line of sight. Though obviously viewable, Gurdeaux was nothing seen through a narrow tunnel on the Tan weapons. His standing body and open chest and head never received a blow from a metal slug.

Walking into the center trench he became an easy target, even for a poor shot. But the Tan still couldn't hit him. The mortar team reached for their pistols and commenced firing but to avail. Gurdeaux mowed them down, letting them fall on their own equipment.

No one could escape as Gurdeaux refused to spare a single soldier. The shells from Gurdeaux's rifle flew out and spun in incredible turns and twists. Light flickered from them as the sun shined down, banking rays off the rounds and through the grass. Bullet after bullet went away from Gurdeaux, reaching a target or dirt. One Tan soldier tried to run into the thick grass for cover but couldn't run fast enough. Bullets tore off his arms and leg. The little camp the enemy had set up was now littered with holes.

Each foxhole and trench was layered with plastic limbs. Gurdeaux viewed his new destruction. No one moved, no one breathed. He looked down and saw the shells at his feet. He was out of rounds and the machine gun was hot, too hot to touch and fire again. It had to cool down before being a second attack.

It wasn't until he saw the smoke from the gun rise to his face that he heard mortars continue to pound into the ground, sending small shockwaves to his shins. He had killed the team but there were still more Tan troops, lingering out somewhere in this jungle of a backyard. He had done his job but still it would take more rifles and ammunition to recollect his glory and be redeemed from allowing his men to be put in such a vulnerable spot and get impaled with round metal football-sized canisters of explosives and shrapnel.

The battle wasn't over and now the sergeant was in another vulnerable spot. Around him were tons of guns but without the map he didn't know which direction to go and take down more enemy troops. Gurdeaux rotated his head slowly, examining to see if a radio was near by. One lay by a soldier's waste. Gurdeaux dropped his gun and leaped over several bodies as he steadily ran to the radio. He kneeled down, grabbing the radio. He held the radio as he tuned into the proper frequency.

"HQ, HQ, this is Sgt. Gurdeaux of Eagle Platoon. Do you read me? Over!" Gurdeaux shouted. A pause followed. No sound came out of the radio. This wait filled Gurdeaux with anxiety. "Gurdeaux this is HQ. What is your position? Over," replied a man. "I'm a bit east of our last transmission sir. I believe I'm near S2, T9, G13 and L4.5 dash 3.9 or 4.0. I can't say for certain. Mortars are still falling and my whole platoon is scattered. I need air support now!" "Bombers are in bound as we speak. Get out of your position now unless you want to burn!" Gurdeaux's jaw opened. His eyes widened as he realized the fate of his men.

Gurdeaux dropped the radio and turned east. He checked to make sure no one was around him and dashed to the pillbox. It seemed illogical for him to do but with Klims still sitting, rocking away his fright, the sergeant had no choice but to get his man out of danger.

Gurdeaux took a handful of steps before he heard shouts. "There he is!" said someone. Gurdeaux turned to face the direction from whence it came. Vague figures could be seen running through the tall grass. Tan soldiers were coming after him; he had to move!

Sprinting to the pillbox, Gurdeaux could feel bullets zoom by his face and legs as he hurdled over obstacles. Crackling sounded, followed by clumps of dirt flung up toward his body. The Tan fired constantly, lifting mud and soil off the ground as missed shots continued to follow Gurdeaux.

The heart inside Gurdeaux's chest never became relaxed to incoming fire. One of the few things that could make a slow runner in the army become the fastest of sprinters was a bullet racing towards a part of your body.

When he reached the pillbox, the firing stopped. Gurdeaux could still hear rustling nearby. It was unclear if they had lost his trail or were swarming around for a sure kill. He looked left, then right and saw the mound he had been used as a shield only moments ago to throw his nade. Gurdeaux saw Klims sitting, probably the same exact spot from before. His head was now hidden in his legs with both arms across his neck. "Klims!" Gurdeaux yelled.

The private looked up and saw Gurdeaux waving his hand frantically at him. "Get up; they're going to bomb this place!" Klims dropped his arms to his side. He appeared confused by the sergeant's words. Glancing around him, he pressed his palms on the ground, driving his body upward off the dirt.

He was still bent at the knees when a stream of bullets came at him. His arm, legs and chest were hit. Klims fell to his knees and then face first to the dirt. A thin cloud rose over his body as the last bullets flew over his head. Gurdeaux watched in horror as his comrade lay motionless. Knowing what was to come if he didn't move fast, Gurdeaux took a giant step towards Klims, dodging over the deceased Tan grunt.

Gurdeaux's legs started to pump hard. His arms formed into sharp daggers and cut through the air. With his heart beating fast, Gurdeaux jumped over Klims body and dove over the mound. Though he didn't see them as he ran by, the Tan soldiers saw him. Four shots were fired at Gurdeaux's feet, missing and disappearing into the vegetation. Now aware that he was still alive, the Tan troops cut through to the dirt mound. The chase continued and would not end until 

the sergeant's head lay severed from his body, atop his torso, with Tan men surrounded by it in a nice, black and white victory portrait.

Gurdeaux continued to run after he landed. He didn't bother to pay attention to the men that lay everywhere in his vicinity. As he surpassed the remains of his fallen platoon, roaring echoed down. He felt rumbling and looked up as he turned his head around. A plane's nose stared him in the eyes. His eyes then shifted to the objects clinging to the aircraft's belly.

The bombs were large, lengthy and colored grey. When the pilot let them go, they dropped fast and out of Gurdeaux's sight. Gurdeaux kept running as they flew closer to the ground. Gurdeaux looked ahead to see what lay in his path. The terrain was flat and the only thing that slowed him was the grass. But now as he was getting farther away from the battle zone, fewer blades stuck up from the ground.

Jolts shocked the ground and shook Gurdeaux's feet. The bombs had hit the ground with tremendous force. The sergeant stumbled, almost falling over but with a firm push off the ground with his left palm he easily regained his balance.

Rumbling ensued, followed by orange clouds of fire. Debris scattered upward in a massive ball of death, reaching for the clear blue sky. Gurdeaux stumbled backwards as the shockwaves nudged him, but he quickly gathered his feet. Bolting faster than before, he cut the air with his hands, bursting with speed and energy. The rumbling didn't stop.

The plane flew over his head and turned sharply to the left. It disappeared behind the east wall of the house. There would be no other circling; one cycle of the plane was more than necessary for the plane to do its damage. Judging from the massive tremors Gurdeaux guessed the plane had just dropped Siconosate, a very powerful mixture that would spend days burning anything it touched, engulfing anything alive or inanimate.

Gurdeaux started to feel heat on his neck. It was at this point he looked back. Gurdeaux checked His feet continued to move as his eyes watched the action. Tan soldiers were chasing after him, but with no guns drawn. They wanted to live as much as he did. The fireballs now crept in the small slits between the blades of grass. Everything seemed to go into slow motion. The fire grew larger and appeared to move faster by each millisecond. Standing no chance, the squad was doomed to be killed. Without warning, an enormous rumbling disturbed the ground. As the rumbling became fiercer, a second BP4 flew directly over Gurdeaux's head, shattering the crisp hot air.

Gurdeaux turned his head back to look ahead, but then back to see the men coming after him. As they charged forward, their bodies became engulfed in flames. Two managed to only have their backs caught but dropped to the ground. The rest fell over, tripping on little pebbles or over each other and vanished into bright orange flares. As the two Tan troops lay wailing in pain the growing flames digested their little plastic bodies. They were no more and would never have a trace found.

The rumbling slowly stopped so Gurdeaux ceased running. He watched the rest of the men in agony, melting to the dirt. Screaming in torment, one reached out for Gurdeaux's hand, but it fell off. The hand dropped to the brown dirt and melted into a puddle.

Gurdeaux walked backwards, stretching out his right hand to feel around. Still looking back, he lunged forward hitting the ground. Something had made him trip. Looking at his feet Gurdeaux could see a big grey rock sitting in the dirt. He got on his back to look around and saw a Green soldier, one from his platoon, standing behind several blades of grass to his left side.

"Sgt. Gurdeaux, are you okay?" he asked. Gurdeaux stood up and said, "I think so…" The sergeant picked himself up and signaled for the soldier to come closer. "You the only 

survivor?" "I think so sir. I saw other men running away like I did. I'm sorry I panicked and didn't perform my duty. I just… Don't worry about kid." The soldier's lips paused. He closed his mouth and nodded, either in agreement or in disappointment.

Gurdeaux began walking away from the rock he had fallen over and headed east, back to the fence from earlier in the day. "So you feel lucky?" asked Gurdeaux. "Yes I do sir, too lucky in fact. But I know you're going to like this sight."

Stunned by the soldier's words Gurdeaux lent his ears to listen to the good news. "I made it past the battle and after a few minutes of running I came into these guys." The soldier led the way and soon stopped at a dense patch of grass. With both hands he separated the foliage and unveiled the really great news to Gurdeaux.

In every angle was an equipped Green soldier. Behind them sat tanks with treads gleaming in the basking sun; they were new, ready for combat. Puzzled by the sight of new men, Gurdeaux got away from the soldier and walked over the grass blades. He stretched his legs and looked around. Tanks, halftracks, jeeps, and TCVs (Troop Carrying Vehicles) now lay on top of what was an empty barren piece of land only hours ago.

"What's going on?" Gurdeaux asked his platoon member. "Sir, this is the 5th Division of Sector 3. Colonel Oaken dispatched them to help us about twenty minutes ago. As I said, I was running to the fence and bumped into these guys. They told to go back out and find you or other survivors but when I heard the rumbling I threw my gun into the grass and hid for cover," replied the lieutenant. "I see," said Gurdeaux, catching his breath.

The hot air wasn't a relief or a relaxant, but after being chased by bombs, anything was pleasant for him. "Well Lieutenant, I guess we can go now. And you are?" asked Gurdeaux. "Baxt sir, Lieutenant Baxt," replied the soldier. "Let's go Baxt. I think we earned it."

"Not so fast sergeant," came a voice from Gurdeaux's right. A man wearing the same colored uniform as Gurdeaux walked up to the two. "I'm Captain Myan. I've received specific orders from General Malist to make sure you are escorted to GB 14 in Sector 4," he said loudly. "You're just a captain," said Baxt. He began pointing at Gurdeaux and becoming aggravated. "He's a sergeant; you can't give him an order."

Gurdeaux held out his hand and touched the chest of Baxt. The lieutenant calmed down and lowered his hand. "I will go see Malist. Do you have a vehicle for me to go in, or do you insist I go on foot?" Gurdeaux asked Myan. "We have an EC17 waiting for you a few hundred feet to your left." "And what of my lieutenant?" "He's going back into combat," replied Myan, "Malist gave no instructions on the others."

Gurdeaux dropped his hand and made fists. This was barbaric to disregard other survivors. Baxt and Gurdeaux looked at one another in disgust, but they both knew nothing could be changed. Baxt walked away from his leader and followed Myan. The captain began talking to the lieutenant, giving him orders on what was to be done now. Myan's hand signals were painful to watch, let alone be adjacent to. Gurdeaux, only knowing the captain by his recent introduction, was already placing him on his bad side.

The irony Gurdeaux thought, of being told what to do by those less superior but never being heard by those who are suppose to listen. Colonel Toole had once again risked the life of him and this time allowed the deaths of his men to take place.

Gurdeaux marched along to his ride, bumping into some troops as they ran past him. It seemed the aerial assault was not the first priority for Colonel Toole. A full movement of the nearby division was what appeared to be the original idea.

A minute went by before Gurdeaux finally heard the chopper's blades whirling. They could be faintly seen towering over the grass-line. It was a small chopper, meant for carrying the wounded and important personnel. It had a machine gun bolted to the floor, jutting out the right side of the belly as was standard for most Green helicopters, but there was no gunner in position. The EC17 could only hold eight, including the pilots, but the commanders today had estimated that more than one would be too much.

Gurdeaux didn't bother to ask where the gunner was. He climbed in and grabbed a handle. Every Green chopper was equipped with handles; it was standard issue. Gurdeaux normally sat with his back against the inside wall facing the necks of the pilots, but today he decided to let his legs hang out the side. They would be able to catch the breeze as they'd fly through the air. Neither of the two pilots looked back at him, as if expecting his arrival.

The chopper lifted off slowly and jolted into the air. Gurdeaux kept his eyes on the grass. He had realized no troops were in sight now. Not one troop or tent or tank could be seen through the thick grass that lay in front of him. But as the ground shrank below his feet, the top line of the blades of vegetation revealed a startling seen. It seemed an armada had been assembled in this battleground. Fleets of tanks and troops scattered across the open field. Gurdeaux under estimated the lieutenant when he told him that the entire 5th Division had arrived for assistance.

The chopper rose more and more. Soon the bodies became tinier and tinier which each waning second. Gurdeaux lost focus on the soldiers and turned his head to see the black smoke that had risen off the ground and now flooded the once clean air. A small breeze swept to Gurdeaux's neck, cooling him briefly. He now felt a chill run down his spine. Blinking slowly as to save the image in his mind, Gurdeaux remembered that out there were bodies. Alive, wounded 

and dead, there were Tan and Green soldiers and the troops below him were heading in their direction.


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2: Aerial View**

Gurdeaux let his feet dangle from the side of the chopper as he flew to the west. The pilot informed him they would make a quick fly by to scout for more survivors and then head northeast to HQ. Gurdeaux didn't face the pilot as he spoke. He stared out into the field from where he had only moments ago nearly died on several occasions. If there were any survivors, and Gurdeaux already knew there'd be no more to find, they wouldn't be back near the fighting ground. Like Baxt they would have run for cover and by now would have been discovered by the other squads moving deeper into the area.

His hand gripped the handle above his head tighter and tighter as the chopper turned sharply to the left. Soaring over the fire-ridden turf Gurdeaux could see the trail of the bomber's remnants more clearly: smoke was going away from him and carried with the breeze, twirling into cyclones of darkness.

Gurdeaux saw how only a few bombs landed. They devastated the entire area though; at least a fourth of the yard was now under fire, in a distinct rectangle, and beginning to get covered with ash. The smoke began to bring the burning smells to Gurdeaux's nose and as he whiffed the tainted air into his lungs. He began to have nostalgic memories of past battles. Fire was always a way to remember bad times, especially when it involved war. The soot stayed still in the air amidst all the wind hurled at it from the propelling blades. Gurdeaux stuck out his hand to clasp some pieces. He stuck out his right hand, held it for a few seconds then closed and proceeded to bring it back to his chest. Glancing down his palm unfolded, revealing the black substance now clogging the very air he was breathing. He scraped it on his pants, and returned focus to the ground. Streaks of black chips were beginning to stain his uniform pants.

Down below, little fires continued to rage on, killing the healthy green grass. Gurdeaux was amazed at how the grass provided so much cover for his counterparts. Now above their old positions, flying high enough to scout the whole backyard, traces of their previously well-dug positions could only faintly be seen.

Looking down only brought angrier thoughts to Gurdeaux's mind. So much devastation that could have been taken care of in a matter of seconds had an air strike been approved by a certain colonel. But now was not the time to be mad at the events that occurred. Without this brutal loss Gurdeaux and his men would still be down there, either searching for their enemy or waiting for them to pop up and commence an attack.

"I'm sorry sir, but our forces on the ground are telling us that there are no survivors. We're bringing it home." Those were the words voiced out of the cockpit. The helicopter tilted downward and gained speed. It was now for certain Gurdeaux was returning to base without any fellow survivors. No one but he and Baxt appeared to have survived the dog fight or bombing. Racing on over the torn apart field below Gurdeaux could see motionless bodies.

The helicopter turned slowly but when aligned with the field, Gurdeaux could see what had been done. He could see arms stretched out in the air as if reaching for help from the clouds, and legs feet away from torsos. Though some of the fresh troops had reached a few victims and placed them in body bags the sight of seeing rows of black plastic littered across his old position, the one where he witnessed the end of his platoon via mortar and bullets, didn't exactly make his body ease up or become happy. Gurdeaux thought to himself, "_They will be remembered because they died. I will be forgotten because I lived_."

Gurdeaux looked up and didn't utter a word. The pilot and copilot were speaking to each other but Gurdeaux didn't bother to tune in or pick up on the dialogue. Speechless, tired and 

irritated, he shifted his whole body into the chopper. Stretching out his legs to their fullest, he let them cover the metal floor and let his head fall and rest on the metal wall behind him. He placed his arms across his lap, folded and still. Slowly he squinted and tried to dim out the sounds of the helicopter's blades and the images of burning grass and bodies below him. Finally, he locked them shut and took a deep breath. For the next few moments, he could rest in peace.

His ride came to an end when he finally landed at Green Base 14. Located across the street from the backyard of the house he had just fought in, he knew he could relax. GB 14 was in Sector 4, a secure Green occupied and controlled zone in the New World, unlike the backyard he just escaped. The Green generals had devised a way to map the New World by designating areas as sectors. So far about 20 or 21 sectors had been known to house or contain troops of either nation, but the Green Army only controlled about fifteen.

Gurdeaux's Sector 2 was always a battleground. Almost everyday a new Tan platoon would gain more ground, only to lose it the following evening. Bombing raids were conducted at night, destroying the patio and yard with craters and exploding debris. The Tan and Green both built tunnels, some stretching several hundred feet below the house, reaching the bottom portions of the foundations. It was quite a sight and definitely worth the time of construction. Inside the house had guard posts at every corner in every room. Each cabinet and tall piece of furniture had at least one squad alert at all times.

Sector 4, set across from Sector 2, which laid next to Sector 3, was one of the toughest the Green held. Few Tan soldiers and patrol units ever dared to trespass onto this stronghold. The base alone housed hundreds of armored vehicles and thousands of soldiers, nearly 4,000 in all. Tanks, halftracks, jeeps, aircraft and boats sat inside many of the warehouses all the time. It was said on a daily basis by the commanders inside that "breaching this place is impossible." Though 

cocky the superiors had a point; the base was designed well. It was a regular grid system, with the barracks and offices and hospital wings in the middle, supply buildings around them, and to finish off the plans a nicely laid out series of barbed wire, set up in four rows with mines between the sheets of securing fencing.

Attempts by the Tan were made but all proved unsuccessful. The last of these losing attempts happened only days before. Gurdeaux was involved and suffered no injury except more memorable images. On the other hand, Tan soldiers suffered a great deal. At least a whole brigade fell, leaving few to return to base to tell their story. When the fight was over, bulldozers cleaned up the mess and dug a huge hole to place the dead Tan soldiers in. If it had been Green men instead, they would have been melted by a flamethrower by Tan hands.

As the chopper circled the landing pad, Gurdeaux opened his dirt covered eye-lids. The light blinded him briefly but he adapted in a matter of seconds. In each corner of the base were guard towers, barbed wire and walls that seemed to reach the setting sun. Gurdeaux hadn't notice the time go by so smoothly. He thought for sure it was mid-day when he got out of the battle area, but now with the orange and purple clouds, he knew better.

Men were armed to the teeth with weapons that could make any soldier brave. Gurdeaux swung his legs back over the side and felt the same breeze from before during the ride. A quick smile raced through his face, but vanished when men with stars on their hats came walking his way.

The helicopter landed swiftly and Gurdeaux climbed off. The base began to slightly fade as the dirt below him swept up form the chopper's blades. It was a very large base. Barracks and depots, outposts and guard towers covered each section. Security was taken very seriously here. Noticing the crap on his jacket, he took it off and folded it into his left arm. The men came 

closer, pushing their way through the ground crew on the tarmac. Gurdeaux stood tall, feet centered and together, awaiting his superiors to greet him.

All three came and stopped a few yards from him. He raised his hand to salute, they mimicked. They put their hands down, and Gurdeaux dropped his to the side. All three men were dressed neatly. Every button fastened and each lace tied to a neat bow on their feet. Although their suits were of a darker color than Gurdeaux, their caps with a giant green G and gold star in the center, pinned above a black seal that wrapped around the circumference of the cap, signaled their authority and high ranking status. Their jackets were long sleeve, like Gurdeaux's, but had two front pockets. Their collars were pinned against their shirts with stars on both sides. Bronze meant Marshall, Platinum meant Chief, Silver signified Colonel, Gold meant the guy was a general and white gold was reserved for the highest authority in the Green Army: Commander. The white gold had never been spotted by Gurdeaux's eyes. The Commander for the Green Army was a man named Hexler Plieken. He had served with his nation's army for over sixty years.

"We've been expecting you Sgt. Gurdeaux. We received word from General Huelong that small explosions were being heard in the distance and offered his assistance, so we sent him and the rest of his 5th Division out to look for you and survivors." All these words came from the man on the left side; he was Colonel Toole. His nasal voice easily gave away his identity. Gurdeaux nodded, but stared deep into Toole's eyes. Goosebumps trekked along Toole's neck as he locked onto Gurdeaux's face. Toole was a small man, shorter than any other colonel and general, but more importantly, shorter than Gurdeaux. His gut was known to protrude his uniform and give the commands sometimes. All in all he made the decisions, and made great 

ones. But every now and then he'd make a costly choice, sending more letters of untimely deaths to unsuspecting parents and wives.

"If you'll follow us back to our office, you can take a load off and be seated comfortably," said the man on the right, Colonel Oaken. His tall stature and square jaw, accompanied by his low voice, made him humble and friendly. Oaken, a gentle leader, peered at Gurdeaux as a man, a soldier. Skinny but intimidating, he mainly headed the armored divisions and was selected field marshal of the Sylon Campaign, which lasted 1 ½ years in the Grinn Desert, claimed 200,000 lives and 3,000 tanks. He won though. After the assassination of Green General Romer, Oaken replaced him and assumed his duties as manager of Operation Street Siege, a small counteroffensive in the streets of the Wasteland city of Gythuria which involved Gurdeaux for the most part. That was where they met. Treated as a peon, he rose to earn great respect and gratitude from his fellow comrades. Toole was once quoted saying, "If we're going to win, he needs to be in charge."

The third man, standing in the center of the group, was the commander of the entire Green Army: General Malist. He spoke no words but smiled at Gurdeaux. They had known each other even before the war. Many messages concerning home life and aspirations had been exchanged between the two. They were friends, something not many other soldiers could say about their superiors.

Gurdeaux followed the three men, staying to the side of Malist. As their feet marched on, the eyes of the soldiers inside the base glared at them. It wasn't a hateful glare, but one of envy. They all knew Gurdeaux. They all knew he was a man of high integrity, bravery, intelligence and above anything else, respect. To talk to him, to be under his command, was seen as more of a 

privilege than an order of burden. All who died alongside him would definitely say the same thing.

The path to Malist's office was a straight shot and that wasn't by accident. His office, small yet cozy, had to be seated so he could make a fast or emergency evacuation from the base is needed.

After walking a distance, they reached the office where one by one they stepped in. Gurdeaux was first, Toole, Oaken and finally Malist trotted inside. Malist looked back at the chopper. Though they had walked a ways, it could still be seen. It had been refueled and was preparing to take off. The blades spun faster as the sound grew louder. As always war never took a break. With the helipad lights beginning to flicker and the ground crew signaling with their waving hands, the helicopter started to rise, probably back to the battlefield from whence it had just departed. It would most likely retrieve bodies out of the battlefield and bring them back for body detail and grave preparation.

Closing the door he looked at the back of Gurdeaux and saw all the black particles that clung to his green skin and uniform. Peering down at his freshly cleaned uniform, Malist felt rather ashamed to show off his cleanliness to a hard-fighting soldier such as Gurdeaux, but in his heart, he knew he wouldn't mind.


	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3: Top Secret**

Before sitting in the wooden chair, Gurdeaux walked over to the mirror that hung next to the window. Gurdeaux removed his helmet and placed it below on top of a short bookcase. He could see his black eyes standing alone in the pool of white plastic that surrounded them. Seeing his scared face in the reflection started to bring stings of pain. The sergeant raised his left hand to feel the old and new cuts that had come from today. It used to be he could feel any new wound on him, whether visible or meant to be seen later when his clothes had come off. But now, after years of combat and dozens of types of injuries, he didn't notice anything from the slightest to the biggest of wounds. His whole body was practically a teaching tool for wounds. Though obviously not visible at the moment, Gurdeaux knew where his oldest cuts and broken bones lay and where the newest of his flesh wounds clung to his body. His square jaw and short hair made him attractive but his banged up cheeks and scarred plastic flesh made him unappealing.

After examining his face, Gurdeaux sat in a wood chair, finely polished and finished, with his jacket and helmet on his lap. Grooves from bullets and flying debris lay on the green helmet. Gurdeaux felt them through his finger tips. Sudden images of carnage and action now popped into his brain but were sent back into the blackness once he heard more footsteps behind.

The general's office was nice. Two windows on the back and side walls and a few cabinets and bookcases gave a welcoming sense to anyone who managed to come inside. With both windows open, the smell of food could be sniffed. A breeze had started again, brining in the warm aroma and salivating sensation to Gurdeaux's senses. Many pens and papers were neatly organized on the desk. Some read "Overview", "Report" or "Classified". Manila folders piled several inches high topped the cabinets to the wall beside him. Gurdeaux had never set foot in here before, and only once had he set foot inside a General's quarters.

On the desk was a lamp with bright lights and four glasses of water. The lamp, stationed on Gurdeaux's left, shined the room nicely. However, because of its stance, it made the left side of Malist's desk grim. Crystal clear, the glasses looked very elegant. Two sat on one corner while two stood on the other. The water was cold, but had no ice. Vapor was on all of them from top to bottom. Gurdeaux was now becoming hungry.

Toole and Oaken came up from the door and sat to the sides of Gurdeaux. The three operated in a triangle, so whoever had the "fortune" of spending time with them could look straight forward and out the corner of each eye and see one staring back with an intimidating look. It wasn't that the three were mean men, they just acted like jerks. Certain people had to keep order and discipline in the army. Not every commander could be a good-guy or a pleasant fellow all the time.

Confined in his chair, Gurdeaux watched Malist come by his side and go around to his chair. Both colonels undid their uniforms, stretched their legs and reached for glasses of water. Toole looked at Gurdeaux but turned away when he saw Gurdeaux's eyes look back at him. Oaken was nice and offered Gurdeaux a glass near him. Gurdeaux refused, saying he would go to the chow-hall and eat soon anyways.

Malist opened a cabinet in the far back corner. Reaching inside, he pulled out a folder with a picture on the front. Gurdeaux anticipated a briefing, but now he didn't know what to expect. Malist pulled out his chair and sat firm. Scooting in, he planted the folder on his desk. The picture was of Gurdeaux. On it read, "Gurdeaux, Felix A: Sergeant." The letters were bold, black and old. No ink smears or a scratch lay on the folder. Gurdeaux looked up at his boss. Malist looked back, stared down and opened the folder. Malist held it to his face and began reading.

"Sergeant Felix Anthony Gurdeaux. Age, 33, years in service….15." Everyone watched Malist's lips move as each word sprang from his mouth; everyone traveled back in time. "Military Record: Commanded Felix Campaigns in Hork Forest, Dirian Swamp Campaigns, Renabok Tundra Missions and New World Missions. Total allied casualties under command – 8,700,000 troops, total enemy casualties under command – 58,900,000." Gurdeaux was now looking at floor. His shoes still had dirt and grass. He took a deep breath. "That may have to be updated." Malist locked his eyes upon his head and sighed. "Medals earned: Four Green Crosses for bravery on the field, 19 Gold Stars for injuries sustained from a battle, 6 Silver Blades of Merit for bravery, do you still have those knifes?" "Yes sir, I do," Gurdeaux said calmly. "They're at the Soldier's Locker in Fier, waiting for me to pick them and everything else up after my discharge.

In the Green Army, soldiers were given lockers in the Green Nation city. The largest city in the entire nation, Fier contained a series of buildings and underground networks that housed medals, letters and miscellaneous items. Upon returning home, a soldier would stop at the building first and pick up any thing that had been placed in his locker.

After listening to Gurdeaux's reply, Malist closed the folder. A paper stuck out from the abrupt close but Malist did nothing to it. He let it hand outside its protective sleeve and carried on.

The general gently set aside the folder. He glanced at Gurdeaux and the other two before getting up. Toole and Oaken tapped their glasses. A hero was standing next to them, a hero that up until now, they had never really known why.

"Gurdeaux," began Malist, "this war has gone on for too long. You've served with us for too long. And I'm afraid to say, we're going to need you for another long time." "I understand 

sir," replied Gurdeaux. "The Tan are mobilizing and seem to be busy 'making' something," said Toole. Gurdeaux shifted in his chair and looked at Toole. "What are they making? A…." "We're not sure," Malist interrupted. Malist had his face looking out the window, feeling the smell of fresh bread and coffee engulfing his old face. "Oaken knows more than I do. Let him speak." "Thank you General," said the colonel.

Oaken got up from his seat and went to Malist's desk. The light from the lamp dimmed out his face, casting shadows upon his face which looked almost monstrous. Oaken yanked out one of the drawers and reached into the compartment. When his hand emerged, it held another manila folder. Opening it in front of his face, Oaken took a glance, eyed Gurdeaux and tossed the folder onto the desk.

The folder opened, revealing its contents. In it were photos, black and white and probably surveillance, of what looked like a factory. Oaken tossed them in front of Gurdeaux. Gently, he examined them with his hands and eyes. Tan soldiers were obviously in every photo but so were some unidentified people. Men with glasses and coats could be seen pointing and testing electronic devices.

"Those Tan menaces are building some new bomb. From the looks of it, it seems to be something electrical rather than nuclear. I doubt they'd be that stupid," Oaken said. Gurdeaux continued through the short pile. Nuclear arms were agreed on to never be used in any situation by all nations, not just the Tan and Green. The No-Nukes Treaty was signed years before the war started.

But just for precaution, the Green army built up a well developed line of nuclear weapons. Bombs, missiles and even vehicle-guided nuclear weapons had been designed, built and stored in Green factories that lined Wasteland. Gurdeaux wasn't supposed to know this, but 

he did. If the order was given by their leader, President Orlan, three hundred nuclear missiles, equipped with enough firepower to wipe out the Tan nation ten times, would be launched and take less than two minutes to eliminate any breathing Tan body.

"What will the bomb be used for, sir?" asked Gurdeaux. "It could be something that won't do anymore damage than what they hit us with now, or it could be our biggest nightmare. You're going to find out," answered Toole. Gurdeaux, puzzled by the intelligent brains around him not knowing anything else, knew what was to become of him. "Who am I going with? Or are you sending me by myself?"

Oaken and Malist turned to each other. They uttered to words to each other. Oaken closed the folder and then simply walked back to his seat. "Two squads will accompany you on your new mission. We've selected about 20 men to find out information along with you. They've been divided into 4 fire teams for easier movement. You and your men will meet tomorrow, airlifted and then dropped behind enemy lines into Sector 8." Sector 8 was a house, completely under Tan control. It had been rumored for quite some time that no Green soldier has been able to go inside and come back out alive. Sometimes, if the soldier were of a high status, the Tan positioned inside would send him back to a nearby Green base via a lone medic truck.

Gurdeaux knew this was no ordinary mission. He had never been to Sector 8. Once he helped do an air raid by mounting a bomber's turret. Few depots and soldiers were taken out. The house was no place for any Green soldier. Twenty-one men verse what most estimated to be 20 of all Tan forces in the New World, approximately 400,000, was a sure-to-be lost battle.

Yet Gurdeaux didn't argue. He didn't stand up to his superiors and ask otherwise or demand a change of plans. In his mind, should he die in Sector 8, his image and history would be forever engraved in Green military records. Gurdeaux didn't want glory or a brave death. He was 

just looking for a worthy death, one a soldier always deserves. Gurdeaux wanted to die in battle or in a situation that any soldier would never give up in. The sergeant never wished for a futile death such as dying while sleeping at a guard post or as a prisoner of war. Gurdeaux wanted a death where when he finally fell to his final resting position, he could glance above and know he had died fighting for his beliefs, his nation and more important, himself.

"I will perform my duty, sir. Is there anything else you wish to tell me?" "No," replied Malist, "that is all soldier. Go eat." Gurdeaux got up, placed his helmet back on and then put on his jacket. Crumbs of dry dirt fell to the floor as he stuck his arms through the sleeves. With each buttoning of his jacket came tension between the three men. Having a willing volunteer was one thing, but none of them figured Gurdeaux knew what he was getting into.

Malist was now looking through the side window. Toole and Oaken were busy filling their mouths with refreshing water. Not one pair of their selfish eyes was locked on to Gurdeaux.

Gurdeaux held his salute and left the office without uttering another word or looking at any of the two men beside him. He didn't storm out in an angry fashion, nor go proud and nose-high. He walked, back straight, politely out of the office. The door knob didn't open easily at first, squeaking with rust but Gurdeaux continued his courteous exit nonetheless. Gurdeaux, once he closed the door behind him, leaned up against the wood and looked out at the base. Men were running around in formation. Some were bayoneting fake soldiers for drills and most were just hanging around their barracks, probably sharing stories and telling jokes to keep their minds sane.

Gurdeaux was no more relaxed than before, knowing that at every conceivable angle and view, Green soldiers were alive and well. A sense of nostalgia came over him. The picture he 

was now examining reminded him of the base in the Grinn Desert, before he was lifted out. Nothing was different except the air.

The sun had set something Gurdeaux always looked forward to watching. Time always seemed to fly with important things. The luminous body's descent below the surface kept Gurdeaux at ease and optimistic. In his heart, he knew that when the glowing structure streamed across the sky, he had survived the night. And when it went down into the blackness, he knew that he had survived yet another day and that time would keep going. Another day would come soon and he would be alive to see it glow with radiance, providing the Tan didn't do something harsh like a midnight bombing on the base.

Nostalgia gone, Gurdeaux walked to the cafeteria. It took him a minute to get to building. Planted near the helipads, many soldiers lingered around for food or entertainment, or to just relax.

As Gurdeaux came closer to the doors, he saw a chopper land. A GMC, a medical helicopter, was being unloaded. Bodies came out. The only ones that were moving were of the crew, not the cargo. First came a body bag, then another, but the third item to come out of the belly of the chopper had white bandages, stained green from blood. He wasn't moving but appeared to be alive.

The crew of two gently pulled his stretcher out and began to carry him across the tarmac. The medical facility, located on the opposite side, seemed empty, at least for now. As the crew carried the wounded soldier to help, his head titled up and began looking up at the sky. Twinkles of little white and pale lights were beginning to emerge. He smiled as his body came past Gurdeaux. Not knowing what to think, Gurdeaux proceeded to the doors.

Gurdeaux grabbed the handle and pulled hard. The inside of the cafeteria was clean, sparkling with clean floors and glistening metal tables. He saw cooks still serving some men who licked their lips with hunger. Haggard and exhausted, Gurdeaux grabbed a red tray, got in line and took anything that caught his eye. Meat, fruits, vegetables and water filled his tray before leaving the line to find a seat. Almost every imaginable color brightened up his tray, making him hungrier by the second.

He didn't want to sit alone. Even after a long day of constant bloodshed and dismembered bodies being blown apart in front of him, he still needed to sit next to a fellow soldier. No words had to be spoken, just acknowledgement of each other's existence. A smile could sometimes be all it took to make a soldier feel welcomed.

Gurdeaux looked over to his right and saw the private insignia on several men's arms. The green sword going the bottom left to the top right of the round patch made them stick out, along with their bright uniforms. Many of the men inside bore the same patch, making the selection small. With no superiors in the room, Gurdeaux decided to join them.

Their bright uniforms looked brand new and unscathed by dirt or even lint. These men were probably fresh recruits and just out of basic training. New and impressionable, he thought that the young boys would like to sit next to a superior. It could brighten their perspective on respect and if lucky, they could hear firsthand account on combat so their worries would drain away, only opening up a window of bright optimism. Gurdeaux casually walked over and sat next to one. Five sat at the table but all stopped eating when he glanced at the bunch.

They saw the symbol on his uniform: a black circle with a golden box with the stitched letter S in the center. They then looked up at his heart to read his name. All it took was the first word to bring about wide eyes. Each soldier became astounded to see this glorious soldier seated 

next to them in a professional manor. He didn't demand a salute or clear his throat as to collect a response. All the sergeant did was smile and nod.

After Gurdeaux sat down, things began to get more social. One by one they asked if he was who they thought. Gurdeaux answered bashfully that yes, he was Sgt. Gurdeaux. The privates couldn't believe it and started asking all sorts of questions like where he was born, how many men he had killed and what his favorite drink is. Gurdeaux answered each question with a brief and sweet reply followed with a smile. But when the conversation shifted to serious matters such as what happened today, Gurdeaux didn't limit his boastfulness on what happened to him and his platoon. The men watched in awe as the man they idolized spoke to them.

Gurdeaux's words came out and sank into the men's minds without difficulty. As the men picked up food with their utensils, Gurdeaux told them his accounts of the fight today, the one last week and some from years ago.

When he had finished his meal and his stories, he looked at the clock and realized he had been talking for an hour. He left the men and bid them the best of luck. The sergeant left the men hoping someday he'd see each of the fine boys again when the war was over or during a quiet day.

Gurdeaux ended his night by walking to a barracks for guests named Barracks Z. It was a common standard in Green Military Bases to have guest barracks. He loved sleeping in the barracks because the sounds of soldiers marching and grunts chattering soothed him to a calm sleep, rather than the silence of a quiet room in the staff area. So with a full stomach, he walked past the helipads, down a dirt walkway and wound up at his home for the night.

It was no different than any other barracks in the base. Gurdeaux walked in slowly in case anyone was to be inside. Loud creaks shot up as the door turned on its hinges and let Gurdeaux in.

Inside he found no one sleeping. He could choose any cot he wanted and did so. He tested each one out to find any imperfections. He went down half the hall before stumbling upon what seemed to be the perfect fit. Sitting on the bed, Gurdeaux unlaced his boots and unbuttoned his jacket, placing it over his boots. Taking the pile in both hands, he placed it at the foot of his bed where he knew he'd remember to find it the following morning. Before retracing his steps back to the cot, he took off his helmet and plopped it on top of the pile, where he hoped it would stay throughout the night.

Once done, he fell back first and lied still for a moment on his bed, getting a feel for the pillow and mattress he so desperately needed for tonight. If tomorrow was ordained to be his last day, Gurdeaux wanted a good sleep before. Any soldier would wish the same especially when tomorrow was unknown. Reaching for the blanket, a spotlight beamed through the windows opposite his side of the room. The light gleamed on his body and bed. He now realized the cuts he had sustained from the day all over his hands and wrists. They didn't hurt until he looked at them. Gurdeaux didn't notice them before that moment that he even had them. Tomorrow, he said to himself, he'd go get them disinfected and cleaned.

Lying flat, he covered himself with a blanket and shut his eyes. The view was black, the sounds were loud in the background but Gurdeaux, for once in along while, had a blanket, a pillow and a roof over his head while he slept. He went to another state of mind and smiled on his transition. Not one thing could take this moment away from him. The only time a soldier can 

be completely happy is when the enemy is out of sight. Happiness was now all over the sergeant as he started to sleep well and dream about his home.


	5. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4: Second Guessing**

Malist continued to look out the window. He meticulously watched men training on an obstacle course as his hands began to slouch behind his back. Lights flickered as troops drilled under flashing spotlights to simulate bomb flashes in the night sky. Nothing ever stopped in a war, except life.

Life, something Malist once fully had and took advantage of with his wife and kids, was now forgotten and pushed aside for war. A soldier's life always laid in the hands of a man who could send him to glory or death or in few cases for this war, both. Many soldiers died in huge battles that made the books, while some became forgotten by dying on routine scouting patrols or simple covert missions.

The one thing Malist wanted was simple: peace. Peace may have been a political word that made every person feel good and happy, not fearing bloodshed and hostility, but it was definitely just a phase. For it only took one person to rise up and bring an end to an era of peace and create a new epoch of war. Malist looked at peace as a phase for nations to not fight and build up. At the end of every war, at least to Malist's knowledge, the weapons used before the peace were much less powerful and destructive than those used in the following war.

No one wanted peace. No one wanted a sense of truce or armistice. Everyone, civilian and soldier alike, wanted power and control over their foe. That is why this war is now entirely one of ignorant attrition. Sooner or later, one side will run out of soldiers and they will be forced to surrender. However, with populations in their own world totaling over 8 billion people, and not to mention the other nations in their own world, this war was going to go on for a while. Malist and the others may have been lucky enough to see the beginning of the war, but seeing as time never stops, they could also be unfortunate to not see the end.

"Sir is Gurdeaux the right man for the job?" questioned Oaken. "I mean, I admire this man's combat record and his efforts and determination for the war, not to leave out his obedience as well, but can he get it done?" Malist turned slowly, keeping his hands behind his back. "I believe he is the man for the job because no one else came to my mind when we drafted a list of soldiers for the mission. Do you not agree?" Oaken nodded but uneasily. Oaken liked Gurdeaux, but this was a serious mission. Any screw up or failure would automatically result in a huge blow to the Green Army and Green Nation.

"General, Gurdeaux may not like this mission, but he's going to do it. If not, he'll be trialed for sedition and treason. Backing out to complete a mission after a soldier has already accepted it means he goes against his superiors and can be executed for such matters. Gurdeaux knows what he's getting into and he's proud to have such a distinct honor," said Toole.

Toole and Oaken peered at one another. Divided amongst the decision mission's front man, the tension was becoming more obvious.

Malist eyed both. Oaken's doubts put ideas in Malist's head, but Toole's rant on Gurdeaux's acceptance only sealed the notion that he was able and willing to perform his duties and finish his mission's objectives. "It's my decision anyway, and I say Gurdeaux goes in and finds out what is going on in that house. If you disagree, then tell me now and I'll go interrupt his dinner and we can all go to bed knowing everyone is freaking happy." Malist finished his sentence angry, pinning his eyebrows to the middle of his forehead.

Oaken had never heard Malist raise his voice before, not even slightly. This was something that could turn ugly. Oaken swallowed, breaking the silence that followed Malist's words. A drop of sweat ran down the side of Toole's head. Winding down to the bottom of his cheek, the drop stopped. Growing bigger as more liquid gathered, a little drop grew from his 

face. Malist watched the drop fall, landing on the ground. It splattered, breaking into many directions.

Instead of prolonging what could turn into a horrible and very awkward situation, Oaken stood up and saluted. Toole kept his seat. Malist waited a second, got to his legs and saluted the colonel.

Oaken stormed out of the office and off into the blackness. He neglected to close the door, prompting Toole to get up and once again seclude the superiors from the outside world.

Toole made it back to his seat and looked at his commander. He sighed and closed his eyelids. When he opened them, Malist had turned back to look out the window. Toole straightened himself in his chair and leaned forward. Bringing both hands together and elbows on top of his knees he sighed again.

"Sir, is there anything else I should know?" Malist kept his eyes focused on the outside action. "Yes, there is. Oaken doesn't know but he's going to take part in this mission. That's all I can say."

Toole, now wanting to know more, wiped his face with his hands. The sweat transferred to his palms, glistening with the light from the bulb above his head. "General, I want to know everything."

For a colonel to go into the field on a mission or during combat was not illegal or against standards. In fact, the rank of colonel was the last to mandate a soldier in the Green Army to participate in battles.

Malist turned to him, looked at his desk and moved toward his seat. He crashed into his seat put both hands on his desk, clasped together. "Oaken believes that Gurdeaux should be sent 

home. He thinks that he is not psychologically stable and needs time off. I say otherwise and so does he."

"I wasn't referring to what Oaken thinks. What I meant was why Oaken? Why now?" "We must ensure that our mission is completed colonel," replied Malist. "There are certain precautions that must take place in order to ensure victory."

"You mean victory for us, not the rest." Toole was beginning to get on Malist's nerves. Malist eyed him menacingly. "I decided what happens with our army, the others with theirs. If you think you know what's best, then by all means let me know. I am trying to make due on what we all agreed to before it all started. Oaken wasn't with us at the time, and word has it that he's been putting his nose in things that he mustn't look at."

"So this is for the good of the nation. Tell me, what is to become of him when he is deployed on this mission?" asked the colonel. His commander took a moment and spoke silently. "You know exactly what will happen."

Toole closed his eye lids and inhaled deeply. It was the cycle, continuously repeating itself. "Now," began Malist, "tell me what you think of Gurdeaux."

"Sir, Sergeant Gurdeaux is fine. If his mind was a piece of cheese, it would have slipped off the cracker by now," said Toole. "Colonel, soldiers crack all the time, but Gurdeaux doesn't show it nor give signs of it. He watches the nature and sky, the stars as well; to escape this harsh reality he's in. He's fine but ill, solid but wobbly. Am I making sense?"

Toole nodded. "I think, after this mission, he needs to go on a leave. It's the best solution." Malist chuckled. His stomach moved and wiggled in his seat as his laughter began to scare the colonel. "Believe me; he's going to a get a leave from this place. Not soon, but, in time. Believe me."

Malist got up, leaving Toole in the dark and with a head, churning with confusion and more questions. Toole stood and saluted. Malist raised his hand, flattened it and dropped it down to his side after a short second. Toole did the same and turned around to face the door. The knob was cold and cooled the warm sweat in his hand. He turned it gently and walked out.

Standing in the middle of the base, the colonel turned left to glance at the moving troops. He watched them run, jump, crawl and hop over mounds of dirt, barbed wire and wood planks. Toole looked down at his feet to see his old leathery black shoes. They were in bad shape but he didn't care.

Glancing back at the troops, he began to see their outcomes. Some of them were going to die soon, but all of them were going to die no matter what. He knew this and couldn't bear to watch anymore.

Colonel Toole retired that night with more worrisome thoughts than ever before. He changed into a clean white undershirt and traded his uniform pants for pajamas. As he groomed himself and brushed his teeth, he took a long look in the mirror. His body had gained weight lately and his face started to gather clumps of grey facial hair. Examining his cheeks, he saw his skin becoming wrinkled and hard. Aging was something he didn't mind but his wife, whom he seen just three weeks ago, may not like the new look.

Before closing his old eyes, he lied flat on his bed. The ceiling was painted yellow, like all the walls in the bedroom: probably to calm him down. The bed was soft but had one cushion. It was long, but the blanket couldn't cover his feet. Toole looked at his night table and glanced at the photo of his wife. Her beautiful eyes and radiant skin sent tears to his eyes. Memories projected into his brain about his wedding, their anniversaries, first born child, second born, fights and picnics they had together.

Though few knew it, Toole was like everyone else. He was a family man, an honorable man and of course, a soldier. The only difference between him and almost all of the soldiers and other people in the base was that he determined their fate.


	6. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5: Operation: HOMEWRECKER**

Gurdeaux woke up to a bright sun shining in his window. Troops could still be heard running and marching around the base. Practice drills featuring mines and machine gun fire were faint, off in the distance, but astonishingly could still be heard through his ears like real combat.

He looked at the clock at the end of the hall. Nailed above the door, it read 2:30. Gurdeaux smiled and chuckled a bit. Never in his military career had he slept in before the start of a mission and never before had he ever been so rested in the past fifteen years.

Stretching his arms, followed by his legs, Gurdeaux sat up and touched the cold floor. The wood, hard and dusty, somehow pleased Gurdeaux. It was still much better than feeling dirt between the toes. Yawning widely and stretching his arms over his head once more, Gurdeaux let the stay on his face.

He checked out the hall and saw its tidiness. Not one bed was disturbed nor slanted on the frame, not one pillow caved in or blanket folded incorrectly. Everything was perfect. Gurdeaux sent his hand to his crotch and scratched himself; it had been a while.

Gathering his strength, Gurdeaux stood up and searched for his boots. They were still at the edge of his bed where he had placed them the night before. The helmet stayed on top and was upright. Gurdeaux pondered whether to strap it on now or wait. A second later, he grabbed it and covered his head. In the sergeant's mind, it was better to walk around the base ready for combat than to be comfortable. Commanders, it seemed to him, liked a ready soldier. They enjoyed the scenery of men prepared to enter a combat situation and eager to give their lives for the beliefs inked onto their brains.

Once his jacket and boots were on tightly, he walked out of the barracks and searched for the cafeteria from the night before. It wasn't long before a sensational aroma of warm food filled 

his nose and teased him into its originating direction. A quick shift in eyes brought the building to his focus and he started his meandering trek. Many soldiers were still outside and training in the blazing sun. Most had their exercises fixed near a drinking station, which was basically a bunch of water-filled jugs on benches. Gurdeaux was thirsty but knew a better and bigger variety of refreshments would be inside the cafeteria.

As he made his way to the outside of the cafeteria, he could see a helicopter land. Another EC17, or possibly EC22, had the hind parts of its landing legs touch the fine dirt. Dust whipped up and formed a dense cloud of sand and dust around the pilot and men aboard. When the rotating blades began to slow and stop hurting the surrounding troops' ears, two lower-ranked soldiers rush out and stuck their hands back into the belly of the chopper.

Gurdeaux could see them pull out a stretcher, and make out two other men inside pushing out the other end. On top lay a body. One of the soldiers inside raised his hand and held a bag of fluid. It was dark and appeared to be blood.

All four dragged out their comrade and began rushing him to the closest infirmary. Gurdeaux saw their worried looks, hopeless facial expressions and exhausted eyes withering on their bodies. He turned away and touched the cafeteria doors.

Pushing open the doors, a roar of chattering rushed at his face. The noise was immense but bearable. Every single body was talking up a storm. Was there something Gurdeaux didn't know? To see the entire base's soldier's training, eating, not to forget alive as well, was something way out of the ordinary. Could there be another mission taking place? If so, it would explain the tension amongst the superiors and the activity of what has always been a calm base.

He decided not to waste time with this thinking and proceeded over to the line where he immediately grabbed a tray and utensils. The buffet was enormous, not like last night. Lunch was 

apparently more popular at this base than a nightly meal. Meats from all animals, vegetables of all colors and drinks of each variety scattered across the long, narrow metal table.

Things were disappearing in front of Gurdeaux's eyes. He had to move fast to get what he wanted. Step by step he inched forward, closer and closer to his desired treats. He took two portions of meets, three of fruits and vegetables, two drinks and to end it all, a nice slice of chocolate cake with butter cream icing smothered all over. It was looking up to be the day wanted. As he told himself the night before, should this be his last day, he wanted it to be stained with great memories and fulfillments, not crap.

Again, Gurdeaux scouted the lunchroom and looked for people worth talking to. Each table was full except for a few, and one had Colonel Toole, all by his lonesome self. So, being the gentleman people portrayed the sergeant to be, Gurdeaux walked past the young cadets and soldiers to his superior, sitting in the back of the room silent and focused on his plate.

As he stepped past the tables, the discussions between the seated men quieted or completely paused. Bolding eyes fixated on the walking legend as his legs carried him through the cafeteria to the spot most dared not go near. Most soldiers at the base, at least from Gurdeaux's perspective, were intimidated by the commanders. Should they slip up or say something they didn't appreciate, bad and awful images zipped into their minds and projected into midnight dreams.

Gurdeaux gently laid down his tray opposite of the colonel. The colonel stopped munching and held his mouth shut as he lifted up his head. Looking up to Gurdeaux was something he secretly feared. "Is this seat taken?" Gurdeaux asked his superior. "You know it's not," replied Toole. Hopping one leg over the short and bench and then his second, Gurdeaux calmly sat down and took hold of his fork and knife. "Today's food looks good doesn't it?" 

"Yes," said Toole, "it tastes good too." A small smile went across the colonel's face as he nodded in agreement to his own statement.

Toole sent his eyes back down to examine his tray as he started up his chewing. Gurdeaux did the same except watched the man in front of him. He seemed calm and alert. It was as though the only thing on his mind was the food, yet he could leap into action at any moment he was called for. Toole may have been looked upon as aggressive, but right now he seemed weak as a baby animal.

"So, is there something I should know that no one has told me?" Gurdeaux let out. Toole stopped his eating briefly but continued back at it as he began speaking. "Yes, there is always something you're never told and it's usually by me, Oaken or Malist. I know you've seen a lot of soldier here training and I know you think of it as askew, so let me tell you what's up."

Toole swallowed, wiped his lips with a napkin from his lap and placed an elbow on the table, nudging the tray to a crooked angle. His index finger stretched out and pointed over the right shoulder of Gurdeaux. "All these men here, these boys of mine, will assist in some way, shape and form for you and your men's operation. Tonight, some will fly with the escorting EC10s and make sure you get into the landing zone safely. Most are going to perform an assault on Sector 7 or 8. Some will linger here but we don't for sure how many. In a few days, you will see some of them again, everyone again, helping our war efforts," Toole said. "They will suffer great casualties, but as always, it's for the survival of the Green Nation. And whatever protects us is vital to be completed."

Toole scooped his spoon into a pile of soup and slurped it silently. "You're not supposed to know this, and you were only supposed to find out tonight. I just thought it might ease you before the briefing tonight. It sure won't ease those twenty young guns going with you."

Gurdeaux wasn't surprised at what he had been told, but more at who did and his manor. Here, sitting before him, was a man sworn to tell Gurdeaux what to do in his life with assertive and aggressive tones and yet, with such melancholy attitude, he had just mentioned highly fragile information that no one at Gurdeaux's level should be allowed to know. Staring at him blankly, Gurdeaux reached into his meat with the sharp knife in his right hand and sliced into the tender juicy slab.

Toole continued to eat his soup and even added in a few crackers from the side. His slurps weren't annoying. The only thing left on the colonel's tray was a littler desert: a tart. It had red filling and seemed dense. Gurdeaux started to salivate just thinking about biting into the delicious treat.

Finishing the liquid inside his bowl, Toole pushed the tray away from his and grabbed the treat off, bringing the desert to his chest. He unwrap the paper holding it together when upon looking upward, caught sight of Gurdeaux's eyes.

The sergeant couldn't keep his eyes off his new target. Realizing the desire in Gurdeaux's mind, Toole tossed the paper aside and stuck the treat in front of the face of Gurdeaux. "Take it," he said. "I know you want it." Gurdeaux shook his head. "No, I don't. I mean… I do but I can simply get up and…" "No," Toole interrupted. "I want you to have it. It's just food it. I've had plenty in my life. I believe one day without one can sustain me."

Gurdeaux titled his face away and looked at Toole curiously, then at the tart. His eyes couldn't get off the desert. Knowing he'd reach the inevitable plunge into temptation, Gurdeaux reached out and touched the tart. "You're sure?" he said. "Yes," replied Toole, "I am very sure. Now are you going to take the damn thing before my arm gets tired or am I going to have to get fatter eating it?"

Gurdeaux sighed and grabbed a soft hold on his next bite. Forwarding it slowly to his lips, the treat inched to his face. With both hands, Gurdeaux took a bite, then another, and finally shoved the rest into his mouth. Toole became amused and laughed a bit. Munching fast, Gurdeaux wondered why his commander chuckled at him. Gurdeaux chewed for a few seconds, swallowed and took a breath. His throat tightened with pain in the middle of his chest. The huge bite went down hard. Gurdeaux had swallowed too quickly.

"Why are you laughing at me?" he said smiling. Toole bit his lip. "I never knew you had such a big mouth." It was a harmless comment but both began to smile wide and laugh with delight. For once, both agreed and acted upon something amusing.

A few more seconds passed before Toole got up from his seat. "I have to go speak with Oaken and Malist. Before I leave, I need to inform you that the briefing for your mission is at 1800 hours and you should be leaving base at around 2100 hours. The darker the sky, the safer you'll be. The meeting will be at the seminar, down past Barracks E. I'll see you later, Sgt. Gurdeaux." Toole smiled, nodded and carried on past Gurdeaux and through the tables.

Soldiers on both sides watched him walk along in a happy manor. They were baffled. The colonel they knew was a jackass and always looked pissed. Now he was smiling and not glaring at anyone. Had Gurdeaux said something funny? All were wondering and brought their eyes to the back table. Gurdeaux felt he was being watched and turned around. He could see every pair of eyes locked on to him. Gurdeaux returned to his previous position and stuffed his mouth with food. He saw the sun in the window and rotated his head to it. Bright and high in the sky, it seemed the day was going to be very nice, but tonight was surely to be a different tale.

Gurdeaux didn't think long about the nighttime and finished his lunch. After clearing his tray, he decided to go back to bed and burn off the food he inhaled. Making his way past the 

groups of men on both sides of the cafeteria slapped bulging eyes and confused stares on each face. Gurdeaux didn't know what to think or do as he hadn't thought he performed anything wrong or weird.

Swinging the doors open, Gurdeaux took a moment to get use to the sunlight that he hadn't fully felt inside the cafeteria. He winced and produced little tears. Raising his hand to block the beaming sun, he turned to look around. All the men in the base were still performing training duties and practicing battle techniques. It was strange how these men weren't giving up, unless they knew what was about to take place.

After readjusting to the sun, Gurdeaux shifted his legs and walked in the direction shortest to his bed. He didn't feel like prancing around and checking out crap as his stomach begged otherwise. A nice, relaxing nap would only do him well. A few hours, some dinner and then the meeting became his new schedule. It should not be hard to stay up with it nor there reason to adjust or add to it. Gurdeaux had been living on plans and events his past 15 years. Why would today not follow the routine or not conform?

With that notion in and out of mind, Gurdeaux reached his barracks and marched in. There he saw his undisturbed bed with the sheets still tangled and the pillow leaning off the bed. No one came in or had, at least to his knowledge, meaning most likely no one would in the near future unless he was late for the briefing. He walked on over and held out his hand to feel the tops of the other comforters adjacent to his left. All were soft, very soft, and probably never used before. It seemed as though each bed in this barracks came from a package only days prior. The plastic fumes couldn't be detected but the idea clung to Gurdeaux's brain. Standing in front of the foot of his bed, Gurdeaux jumped onto it, landing face and belly flat and right arm stretched out, helmet, boots and belt attached. He didn't bother nor care about taking off his assortment of 

items on his body. Gurdeaux became use to sleeping with a helmet on the battlefields. His left arm was tucked beneath his chest but didn't bug him. It actually felt comfortable. He closed both eyes and hoped to catch an hour or two before the meeting commenced.

Blackness blanketed his mind, but only for so long. Without warning, gunshots sounded, alarms rang and men began shouting. It seemed chaos erupted in Gurdeaux's mind. Seconds went on and an image blurred to into his mind. The sides were surrounded by metal and only a small window offered a glimpse at anything happening outside the metal box. Gurdeaux looked around and saw the controls in front of his legs. Bright buttons and metal handles were at his reach. Rumbling could be felt under his seat. He looked down and could see his body jumping slightly. The tank was in motion but he wasn't the driver. He decided to look out the window and see what was going on. He pushed his face to the small glassless window and saw a horrible scene. Smoke and clouds of black air were everywhere. Dirt was being sent upward in the distance and was followed by roars which trembled the ground. Closer to him however was a series of trenches that contained high fences of barbed wire and stone obstacles. Bullets now came at him, nicking and tapping the metal that incased the sergeant. Gurdeaux flew back into his seat when the bullets ran to him so suddenly and without warning. He saw the explosions, the trenches and the bullets, but no enemy.

His eyes wandered to the side and he saw soldiers, thousands jogging alongside in linear fashion. All clutched their guns tightly to their chests as they raced into the battle. Some were mowed down and made little hic-up sounds as their bodies became lifeless and fell to the ground. The lines held and stayed as one. More and more sounds of bullets hitting the metal and men being ripped apart into pieces by the shredding plastic pounded into Gurdeaux's head. He started yelling. But he himself couldn't hear his words. No one looked in his direction. They continued 

to march forward to the trenches, all as one. But after a few hundred feet, the lines started to break and lag behind, leaving vulnerable men up at odds that didn't go in their way. The men left to fend themselves started to go down and drift behind the tank, out of Gurdeaux's view. Feeling his throat shake and lungs force air out, he thought now his yelling would be heard, but no such luck. Gurdeaux didn't understand. The trenches caught his eye and made him turn his head. The tank was now about to go over them. Still, the bullets came to him but the gunmen couldn't be seen. Only flashes of light existed in the trenches. The tank started to pick up speed and Gurdeaux grabbed for the seat. Faster and faster the tank came at the winding trenches and tighter and tighter Gurdeaux attached himself, bracing for impact. Suddenly, the tank slammed forward and tilted fast, shaking Gurdeaux somewhat loose but flinging his legs into the air, letting his feet hit the window and buttons on the control board. The tank then leveled as fast as it had gone nose first and Gurdeaux's legs hit the floor hard. But the tank continued to move. The back of the machine then went down and Gurdeaux could feel the front trying to climb over something, possibly the back of the trench. Bullets were getting louder and the shockwaves of the explosions closed in, sending chills down the spine of Gurdeaux. But just as he thought it wouldn't stop, the tank halted completely. He waited for a moment. Now the engines were dead and the bombs and bullets were all that could be heard. No soldiers talking, and no soldiers screaming were ringing in his ears, not even faint voices of agony and anger.

Gurdeaux found his balance and went for the hatch. Fortunately for him the tank hadn't flopped on its side or at the worst, onto its back. Carefully he unlatched the lock. Should there be any Tan soldiers around, he wouldn't dare want to get their attention. Slowly, pushing with both hands, he lifted the hatch enough so that his head could fit. He didn't have a gun, he realized. 

Quickly, holding the hatch with his left hand, he touched his waste and felt a handgun on his hip. He looked down, saw it and immediately grabbed it.

But when he turned back to look out into the battlefield, he couldn't see much. One thing he could definitely see however was a barrel of an assault rifle staring down the middle of his face. Crossing both eyes, a shot was let out and Gurdeaux screamed, "NOOOOO!"

Gurdeaux sat up. He gripped the sides of his bed as though tomorrow would never come. Sweat ran down all sides of his head and face. Even his arms and legs were covered. He took short breaths and blinked sporadically. Turning his head, he saw an empty row of beds and looking in the other direction, the same picture. Continuing to blink frantically but breathing more calmly, he lied back down and realized he was safe. The dream was an intangible recreation of a past event in his life that would never come into physical form and harm him. "I hate those dreams," Gurdeaux uttered silently. Turning to his right he searched for the clock. Above the door, the hands read 5:45, 1745 hours. He had fifteen minutes to get his ass up and to the briefing. Without hesitation, the sergeant emerged from his bed and walked out the barracks, and made his way to barracks E. The destination wasn't far and Gurdeaux knew where it was. He didn't know the place perfectly, but after a few visits in the past, buildings and paths became instantaneously recognizable and memorable once journeyed on or about.

After turning around the corner of the hospital warden, Gurdeaux saw the building. There were no windows and what seemed to be a single entrance, guarded by four soldiers, each equipped with enough ammunition to take out a garrison of soldiers. Gurdeaux walked up to the door and saw the two closest grab a handle, pulling open the doors wide as could be. He nodded and proceeded inside. The sweat from his nightmare was almost evaporated. What remained was under his clothes. None could be spotted upon his green skin, even on his forehead of cheeks.

Walking in, Gurdeaux didn't know what to expect. The sun was still out, barely, and was painting the sky pretty colors. He didn't want this to be the last time he'd see the sunset.

Gurdeaux had been to hundreds of briefings but each was different in it own little way. Would there be rows of filled seats? Would there be a buffet and just a slideshow presentation? Would there be strict orders shouted at him by his superiors as the men around him began to soil their underwear? Gurdeaux hadn't been to a briefing so unannounced or mysterious. It started to appear as an enigma. Little clues were given to him, but because of Toole, he at least wasn't going to be shocked by new developments or last minute news and information.

A narrow hallway was all that came after the doors, and ended with yet another metal door with no guards. The walls and ceiling were yellow once again, offering a soothing feel to Gurdeaux and most likely everyone else that had visited this building. It took about forty steps along the shiny floor to reach the next entrance. A single small handle was screwed to the door. Gurdeaux placed his hand on and turned. He didn't swing the door open inch by inch. He flung it open completely and saw everything.

Rows of seat took over the room. In the front were a screen and a projector, which was already on and projecting a slide onto the screen ahead. The title read: OPERATION HOMEWRECKER. Gurdeaux liked the title, it was amusing, but it was most likely intended to spawn some encouragement and power up the others for their suicidal task. On his right, Gurdeaux could see a table with food: coffee and donuts. On his left however were the three: Malist, Oaken and Toole. They were talking to each other, probably about who had the "honor" of going in front of the men and talking about how they might die or become heroes with this prestigious mission. The lights in the room were darker up front, for obvious reasons and dim everywhere else.

Gurdeaux searched for an empty seat and found one near the table of snacks. He walked to it, but didn't sit down until he also filled his hands with food. Once he sat a quick sip and after a gulp a bite on his treat finally brought him to ease. He was satisfied and the briefing hadn't started. Perhaps this was meant to be a good night. Feeling good, he kept drinking the warm coffee and looked at the men around him.

Then the boys started piling into the room. Most were privates, no doubt about that. Their baby-like faces and eagerness to know what they were going to be told could be noticed on each one in each corner, but of course in the middle of the pile of as well.

Some immediately went for the front row center seats. Privates enjoyed being in the center, for it meant the best view and chances to be called upon should a colonel or general ask a question. However, there were also corporals in the room. To Gurdeaux's count, there were 3 sitting in the room. So, out of the twenty one men ordered to complete this mission, 4 knew something and had experience, while 17 were new and had no idea what to expect. Gurdeaux's ease now diminished and it was going to take something very nice or pleasant to send smiles and ideas of goodness back to his body.

Without warning, Colonel Toole walked up to the front of the group and stood silently still, blocking a large portion of the screen. The projector's light illuminated his green face, making it glow bright in the dark room. All the men, both soldier and commander, watched and waited for the upcoming words.

"Gentlemen," he began, "welcome to what could possibly your final mission. I hate to start off so pessimistically, but if I can get that first off my chest, things will go a lot smoother for all of us. Now then, let's begin."

Toole walked to the side and reached into his pocket, pulling out a small black remote. Pointing the remote at the machine, the slides moved and a new image appeared on the screen. It was a black and white photo of the house in Sector 8 they were going to storm into. "Now men, this is it: The House. It lies in Sector 8 and is heavily guarded and fortified with many men, weapons and vehicles that I and any other commander would gaze upon in envy." His thumb pressed down on a button and a different image showed.

"This is what we know about the house," Toole started. The picture displayed an aerial view of the insides of the house. The frame probably showed the living room at an angle, with a kitchen tucked in the back. The ceilings were higher than normal and furniture laid everywhere. Between where the photo might have been taken and the fridge were two couches, a dinner table, an island in the middle of the kitchen and a food pantry. The tops of the tables and couches held little forts of machine gun positions and turrets. To the far right of the frame was a tall wooden bookcase. Almost cut off by the picture's edge, a faint anti-aircraft gun could be seen, mounted on the corner and large enough to shoot down most of the Green Army's aircraft in a single shot. Although he couldn't see the men operating it, Gurdeaux imagined an entire squad would be needed to operate the gun.

A small hand was raised and blocked Gurdeaux's view of the right-side couch. "Yes son, do you have a question?" sounded a voice, probably Oaken's. "Sir, how were these photos taken? Did you guys set up a surveillance camera or rig one to a chopper?"

"Good question son. We instructed a Diamond Team member to go on a rogue mission into the house and take specific photos, allowing us to analyze the severity of the enemy's troop count. He used special shoes and devices to climb up the walls, much like the ones normal men 

use when installing Saint Spikes Traps. Now… What happened to him?" interrupted the private. Toole sighed and took a moment. "He died. Now, let's continue."

The soldiers started looking at each other and worried eyes and even tear drops started gathering. Malist's voice quickly came into the room, affirming the men that this was reality. "Diamond Team members are not immortal," he shouted from the blackness, "and it happens a lot more than you think."

The room became silent; not even breathing could be heard. Another picture slid on the screen. "This picture is of the closet in which the Tan hold their weapon. Preliminary reports indicate that they have acquired devices which conduct a lot of electricity, so we've concluded that this new weapon is somehow electrical or damages things that run on electrical power." On the side was a white door and had many soldiers surrounding the outside. Tanks were at the bottom of the door, guarding the narrow slot that separated it from the ground. They seemed extremely alert, even through a photograph.

"As you can see by this picture, the Tan have built many strongholds inside Sector 8. We estimate up to 300,000 men currently inside, along with a reported 4,000 tanks." The room became silent; not even breathing could be heard. Another picture slid on the screen. "This picture is of the closet in which the Tan hold their weapon. Preliminary reports indicate that they have acquired devices which conduct a lot of electricity, so we've concluded that this new weapon is somehow electrical or damages things that run on electricity." On the side was a white door and had many soldiers surrounding the outside. Barbed wire and tanks were at the bottom and seemed alert.

"These pictures are of the scientists that are working on the project."The pictures showed scientists in white lab coats experimenting and jotting notes around a large object, possibly made 

of metal, from which bright lights were coming out. The pictures didn't show the entire thing and Toole didn't seem as though he knew even a small bit about it. "Your mission is to get these notes and if possible, bring back a scientist or soldier so we may question them and learn more." The slide changed and the sound of the machine made a few privates jump; solid silence was something that when broken could make any person jump and flinch.

"Your mission is to get these notes and if possible, bring back a scientist or soldier so we may question them and learn more. Choppers will bring you to the chimney of the house and you will drop in via rope on a winch that is welded into the helicopter. The rope is of a high grade metal mixture, so you shouldn't worry about falling to your death. Once landing in the fireplace, you will be radioed orders and directions to the closet via our photos here. You won't be able to see everything and each corner so we'll have to guide you through carefully. When you have reached the closet, completed your objectives and are safe from any Tan soldiers, we will sound the alarm for the 10th Cavalry to come in and distract outside forces in Sector 8. Once this diversion has commenced, several, and by that I mean a few dozen, helicopters will drop in to a designated LZ and airlift you and anyone you've captured back to base. Colonel Oaken will assist in the evac of you men and we be supplied with several squads for suppressing fire, if necessary."

Gurdeaux looked at Toole as though he were an idiot. _If necessary_? A house filled with hundreds of thousands of units of Tan troops and had the guts to say that they may not want to shoot bullets at him and his men? The anger was building inside Gurdeaux yet again. But like all the other times, he would have to conserve it for the battle.

"Are there any questions?" Toole asked the audience. No one raised there hands or gave a confusing look. Toole was very clear. He had just told them the facts, no crap and filler. 

Gurdeaux turned to see the faces around him. It was as if the faces of the young men had become slate in a split second. Now they knew what was about to take place: a full scale suicidal mission. A mission only few have ever had the privilege of experiencing in their military careers. Most automatically knew that they hadn't been chosen because of their combat history (because almost all of them had none) but because rather due to their obedience and loyalty to the Green Nation.

It was all making sense now; Toole's comment to Gurdeaux went off like a siren in his head. Gurdeaux would lead his men to Sector 8 under the orders of his commanders. The commanders, Toole, Oaken and Malist, knowing all to well what lay for him and the twenty others behind the house walls were doing so not out of ignorance or high optimism, but of careful planning and analysis.

The Tan troops in Sector 8 were not going to be in the house at all: in fact, probably none at all. It was a common military tactic used by Tan generals to mobilize all available forces to guarantee a buffer zone of victory, in order to preserve the land and area already acquired by them and their men.

The Tan forces were going somewhere, and where didn't matter. All that was important was that they were leaving Sector 8, letting the scientists unprotected in their laboratory of a closet, which would allow Gurdeaux and his men to get into the house and capture them.

Toole and the Green troops already at the base GB 14 would either stay or go to Sector 7 or 8 to meet up with the Tan forces from Sector 8. There'd be fighting, but just enough that Oaken and the helicopter group could swoop in and get Gurdeaux and his men out. Now as Toole said Oaken would have to cause a "distraction", so Tan forces were probably going to arrive as soon as Gurdeaux reached the scientists. Timing was the crucial element in this whole 

experiment and a misstep would spell imminent disaster and death for all those involved, especially those with green skin.

"You twenty-one men have been divided into 4 fire teams, each with five men," Toole said aloud, breaking Gurdeaux's concentration on the careful mission planning that the colonels and general underwent. "Aesa will have Sergeant Gurdeaux as the sixth man, who will also play leader of the two squads." Gurdeaux doubted anyone disagreed with that choice. "You will find out who you'll be with once you've reached the helipad and will be given your assignments by us before liftoff and as you travel through the house."

Gurdeaux sat like cement. He wasn't surprised but just thinking about how they were going to go in. Toole had plainly said they would go through the chimney. It meant that they'd become sitting ducks, just to ensure each soldier getting down the shaft to the fireplace. Gurdeaux began to worry about being shot down by enemy fire, or alarming the Tan in the sector and having an enormous confrontation. Before getting up from his seat, he watched Toole walk on stand quietly, staring at his feet as if thinking about the lives he had just endangered. Just as Gurdeaux lifted himself up, Toole spoke. "Men, the choppers will lift off at 2300 hours. Get to the loading depots and pick up your weapons and supplies. Food rations will be available but pack lightly. This mission should take no more than a day. The choppers will bring you as soon as possible into the landing zone. Be sure to be onboard the helis before 2300 hours or severe consequences shall follow."

Many of the soldiers listening nodded in agreement and began to vacate the room and move to the door. A crowd started to emerge at the exit but quickly dispersed and separated to the sides as the general and two colonels made a path between them all. The men followed, leaving Gurdeaux in the back.

He hadn't moved since Toole finished his speech. Thinking in his dense brain, the sergeant could only guess the amount of fear present in these young boys. They had just learned one of the most important rules in the military: never volunteer. Gurdeaux took one last glimpse in his brain of the photo with the scientists he had just seen and made a distinct visual memory of it. Although he usually didn't take prisoners because his routine could care less about them, having these men in green hands meant another victory for the Green Nation and perhaps bringing the war a step closer to an ending.

Getting up slowly, he walked out of the room quietly, dumping his half-eaten donut and half-sipped coffee cup into the trashcan that lay adjacent to the door.


	7. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6: A Good Night**

Gurdeaux walked out of the barracks and saw how the sun was for the most part gone, but still had it tail of flames closing in on its full departure, lingering behind the fence. It was a beautiful horizon. The sky was littered in color. Orange and pink ribbons draped the clouds and atmosphere. Beams of light shined through the cracks and somehow kept the darkness of the base lit. It was a glowing gift for the sergeant and the twenty others, a gift probably only he, only the one who knew what to expect of such missions, would come to recognize as important in life and most likely remember.

Gurdeaux was the kind of leader that couldn't predict a man's mortality, for the most part, until on the battlefield. When he was a private, and even to the point of when he reached the rank of lieutenant, he and his men would secretly place bets on soldiers both around them in other units and in his own. Being a commander, it was a sure way to pass the time, but for the grunts, it was an ironic way to become stable and happy. The idea of guessing on someone's or one's own fate seemed rather nefarious, but it didn't take long before it seemed applicable to the circumstances and even encouraged.

Predicting such a depressing statistic was neither his forte nor his hobby and he sure didn't enjoy it now, after seeing men fall by the thousands in front of his eyes at the Battle of Komon, the nightmare he had relived only a bit ago. But when stuck together with men of high and low caliber, he had a better picture of who would make it out alive and who would be sent back home in a body bag and buried with a green star above his casket.

As he walked on toward the weapons depot, a large hut filled with countless amounts of weaponry, he couldn't help but notice how the base was empty of the men it had just contained minutes ago. A few lingered in the dim lights and the twenty assigned to him walked through the 

cool crisp air as well, but other than that, almost the entire base had disappeared in a matter of minutes. This sign was probably the beginning of the mobilization to the new front the men had been told about. Though they left hardly any trace of where they went, Gurdeaux suspected they went into the house or into the backyard behind the fence behind him.

Like most things, they went like the wind. None of the ground shook during the briefing, so no on in the room, other than the three commanders and Gurdeaux, knew they were going. The only difference though was that Gurdeaux didn't anticipate such an early movement. Most of the base's troops but didn't have time to perform what became known to the Green soldiers as Destination Preparation.

Gurdeaux doubted the soldiers, lined up and leading him to the rifles, had ever performed the "ceremony" but there was always a first time for everything.

The entire base knew that soon, a massive movement would take place involving all of those well enough to fight. Gurdeaux had done this himself a number of times before but he never felt its seriousness until tonight. Taking part in a giant fleet of forces, mobilizing to a designated rally point, all from a tiny area, such as a military base, was hard to do, let alone plan.

These men were obviously very well aware of the possible death lingering in front of them. It was because of this that Destination Preparation was popular. When Gurdeaux commanded in the forests, men assigned to him would perform the same ritual but in a sloppy fashion and maybe once or twice, for they envisioned a short war and thought they'd go home alive and well. Believed that the sooner and more often it was done the more invincibility and strength a man would receive, it was performed whenever possible by all soldiers.

Not many took it seriously as actual "medicine". Perceived more as a psychological boost to the moral and determination of a troop, soldiers acknowledge its importance but never gave it credibility as to having real power.

Many at the base were young and had probably never experienced real, if any, combat. They had lived in the Green Nation and had to have watched countless films and short videos about the combat that took place away from their civilization and way of life.

The ritual began with all the soldier's supplies laid out in an organized manor, sometimes on a towel or blanket. In the Hork Forest, Gurdeaux would gather grass and pine needles and make a make-shift cloth to nestle the supplies on.

Everything from grenades to extra clips and bayonets was placed in the soldier's sight. Next, the objects were cleaned using water and sometimes soap. Cloths and rags of old, torn shirts and pants would wipe away any dirt or blood that lingered on. If handy, a troop could use his lighter, but smoking had become very uncommon for Green soldiers in the past years. Although Gurdeaux hadn't seen a Tan soldier smoke a cigarette in a while, he was sure they still did.

The third step would involve the man writing a letter home to his family or loved one. Assurance of love and care was something that a soldier couldn't easily tell a person outside the war zone. There were few public phones, especially ones that went from the New World to their world. Most communication apparatuses were in the hands of the commanders and high ranking officers. Gurdeaux had a brief stint with one and about a year ago. During a stay at GB 14, he was asked to answer questions by admiring fans on a radio talk show in the Green Nation.

The devices were large, like normal radios, and had many buttons and lights on them, like a phone. They could conduct interviews perfectly, with minute static. Though he only held the phone for two minutes, it was quite a privilege.

Lastly, the soldier would then put everything back to its proper order and suit up for battle. A neat and tidy assembling of armaments and emotions would be attached to the men, just before he went into combat. Demise such as death can happen at any moment. Although Gurdeaux had several hours before lift-off, he knew better than to take chances. Besides the enemy could attack as well, if they knew that there were very few forces in the base now. As was always stated in the Green Military Manual, something Gurdeaux memorized in basic training, "the enemy attacks in two ways: when they are ready and when you are not".

The manual was full of humorous one-liners. Gurdeaux could recall that in the chapter dealing with gun fire, the book stated that "tracers work both ways" and "friendly fire isn't". It brought a nice smile to his face.

Before he knew better, Gurdeaux was now in front of the depot and had been waiting patiently in line for some time. His subconscious had guided him with the men and made him stand still, watching as the rest of the two squads filed properly, waiting to grab hold of the supplies they asked.

Missions such as these carried a limit to ammunition or weapons. If the soldier wanted to weigh himself down, that was his choice. Besides, any soldier knew that going into an area with a very high chance of dying knew that taking the essentials was obvious.

As the men received their things and got out of line, Gurdeaux watched their faces. The first to march off stared into the open base and didn't look back at any other man. The second repeated the same but looked down at his things. The third to go away seemed sad, with his 

eyebrows raised upward, forming a V on his forehead. All three held grenades, many magazines and a medical kit. The depot at GB 14 never ran out of anything. Men inside stocked all sorts of guns and explosives and the inventory could feed a whole division.

The line dwindled to only a few and Gurdeaux waited anxiously to see what he could get. As the seconds went by clouds faded into the dark sky and small, distant stars emerged from the unexplored abyss which soldiers, such as Gurdeaux, admired for its beauty and intrigue.

Another soldier left and then another. It wasn't long before Gurdeaux now stood in front of the counter. A short man with a mustache and balding head stood patiently behind. "Hello sergeant. What can I get for you?" he asked. Gurdeaux looked to his left and upward and opened his mouth. "Give me…. a radio of course, an assault rifle with clips that hold more than 30 rounds." The man looked down and nodded, then turned to the left to go retrieve said rifle. After a brief moment, he came back and handed the desired gun to Gurdeaux. "This is the GAR735," said the stocky man. His nasal voice was loud but very friendly.

"It holds 35 rounds per clip and has incredible accuracy up to 400 feet. The recoil on this baby is surprisingly small for its firepower. Normally, it takes about 2 shots to the chest to take down any soldier, Green or Tan or other, but this little sucker can penetrate flesh like no other, sending pieces everywhere and in comparison, can make a grenade explosion seem like a firecracker."

Gurdeaux grabbed the rifle held the weapon close for inspection. He placed it tight to his shoulder and looked through the scope. The crosshairs in the small black metal circle were perfect and the handle was soft. Amazingly light, he could hold it with one hand.

"Give me another one, please." The man nodded once again but then asked, "How many clips would you like?" Gurdeaux pondered and told him, "I think twenty will do just fine, and a belt to hold everything. Also, throw in 6 grenades and a foldable shield."

The shield Gurdeaux requested was a new top-of-the-line defense mechanism that proved very valuable protection for the one who wielded the device and to those who stood close by. However, though extremely effective, not enough had been made to be introduced to every soldier in the Green Army.

It was light but bullet proof to handguns, sniper rifles and assault rifles. Folding into the size of large book, it could cover an entire man, head to toe, when fully opened. A handle was bolted to one panel so it could be held safely and be moved easily. A minute passed and the little man came back with everything in a bin. "Sorry but we don't have shields."

"You're kidding me? This place has everything," Gurdeaux responded sharply. "It _had_ everything," the man replied. "We haven't gotten a shipment of the stuff for quite some time and I'm afraid these new GX shields won't be traveling our way for quite some time. Word has it that our boys over in the Wasteland are getting pounded with mortars the size of footballs, so they priorities are at the top of the list."

"I understand. They need all the help they can get. I'll do without." Gurdeaux knew the awesome capability of a shield. The magnitude of protection could not be measured. But for right now, he accepted the setback.

"You want anything else sir? Perhaps a compass, binoculars, a watch… maybe a pencil?" asked the man. "No thank you," replied Gurdeaux, "I'm confident that the men I'm going with will have those excess supplies. I don't like carrying equipment I doubt I'll need. Yesterday I was prepared but tonight and tomorrow I really doubt I'll need any of the so-called essentials."

"Traveling light is a good motto," said the man. "It works well for me, even in the face of danger," said Gurdeaux. "Keep at it. I just hope one day these boys will get the same mentality stuck in their brains." "You said it. Putting these kids, because that is what they are after all, in a scenario like tonight with all that gear is worse than driving a car without brakes: an accident is going to happen."

"I agree sir. So... are you going on an important mission?" the weapon supplier asked. Gurdeaux took hold of the bin and looked at the man. "Yes. Isn't it obvious?" Gurdeaux replied. "Well buddy, I've seen a lot of men get suited up in the past month of so. Many took grenades and medical kits, just like the boys before you tonight. But I've head stories of futile missions that still went wrong, ill-planned tactics and strategies that even a kindergartener would deem ignorant. So I mean no offense to carry along with my question, I was just trying to get a conversation going. The other boys just said the type of gun they want and the supplies and didn't even bother to look up at me."

"They're afraid. It isn't anything peculiar," said Gurdeaux. "I understand sir, believe me I do. But I can't wonder why these boys are always picked for the job. I'd rather put twenty of you against a fleet of tanks than send a Standard Private, who just finished basic training, with a set of mines and a head start."

Another smile was brought upon Gurdeaux's face. _Strange_, Gurdeaux thought to himself, _how this man supplies the war effort but does not lead_. Yet another case of a brilliant mind trapped in a place that allowed no place to go up in rank or voice.

"Correct me if I'm wrong but the reason why these men are chosen to do the most imperative of dirty work is because of commanders want to have more men trained better and faster."

"That's very true sergeant. I've been working at bases since my injury and things today are similar but still very different than what they could be compared to in my day. When I was a corporal, I took part in missions but as the radioman, the look-out scout or as the man who laid down covering fire; I was never sent in to "pick up the package", if you know what I mean."

Gurdeaux was impressed. This man was old school. He had used a term coined from the beginning of the war that was never used in modern combat: look-out scout. That was what troops today would call "the eye", the guy who covers your butt and makes sure no ambush or enemy forces are coming at you.

"Tell me… what's your name and how did you get injured?" asked the sergeant. "Well, I'm Jervaire, and I was a lieutenant assigned to the Yuto Mountains when a winter storm collapsed our radio tower. Left without communication, I went for help to the base up on the mountain side. The men I left were fine: equipped with rifles and food. I was about two hundred vertical feet from the base when a sniper got me in the back. I collapsed but regained my strength. He had only pierced the bottom of my right lung but I fought on. I then saw a flicker of light in a patch of snow, no more than a hundred yards to my right. I guessed it was his scope and pulled out my rifle. As I stood, he kept shooting at me, firing four more shots. One hit my knee and the other three missed. I unleashed a fury on him, firing twenty rounds from my GG5. I killed him, made it to the base and was helied out. I made a full recovery and they stuck me here. I still walk with a limp but I've killed some Tan troops since my arrival here some two years ago. I know a lot of people say that, 'Hey, you were injured eight years ago. What could possible be different now?' and I say to them, 'Well, I guess I'm just old school'."

"You are old school sir. And believe me lieutenant, things will get better," spoke Gurdeaux. Jervaire opened his mouth slightly but then closed it as in a flash. "What is it?" Gurdeaux inquired. "Things are getting better sir. No one's called me lieutenant in two years."

Gurdeaux and Jervaire smiled in a moment or sad realization. It was bitter sweet how the lieutenant had now gained some dignity but that it had come from the expected source, a man whose high-and-mighty status hinted that he would make a soldier, past and present, feel at home.

What Jervaire wanted was recognition from the troops at the base who weren't so well known and perceived as warriors. In other words, he wanted a regular Joe to call him by his rank, or treat him as the being he was.

"So, what does the mission entail for you?" Jervaire solicited Gurdeaux one last time. "I and some twenty other men are going to Sector 8 to foil a new weapon program," Gurdeaux retorted.

"Can you do me a favor while you're in there?" Jervaire asked. "Name it sir." "Put a knife in one of those Tan bastards for me."

Gurdeaux looked around the edges of his eyes and responded, "Well then you better give me a knife, lieutenant."

Jervaire turned around and paced around the depot. The outside was dull and boxy but the insides were quite a sight. Rows of racks of rifles, explosives and clothes went from left to right. Guided by lights above on the ceiling, Gurdeaux could see for a hundred feet down the aisles of limitless defense.

Finally, Jervaire snapped his fingers in recollection and reached under the counter. His stubby fingers pulled out a large shiny blade, with grooves wrapped from the tip to where the 

tough metal met the dark, black leather handle. Also in his hand was a holster for the blade. A brown and withered old piece of leather stood behind the knife. It had a strap with a golden metal snap. It was to go around the shin, used for emergencies.

The depot man looked up at the tall sergeant. "Use this," said Jervaire as he dropped into Gurdeaux's bin. "Kill them." "I will," replied Gurdeaux, and the conversation ended.

Gurdeaux swung both guns over his shoulders and picked up his bin. Jervaire didn't speak a word but watched admirably. The straps of the GAR735s were short but offered enough slack to slouch down to Gurdeaux's hip.

Gurdeaux turned around and went back to barracks Z. He held the bottom of the bin with both hands; all together it must have weighed fifteen pounds. It wasn't too heavy but a child, or private, would definitely have problems with it. With both guns on his shoulders, Gurdeaux still felt light. He began to question if he should go back to the depot and ask for a bigger arsenal. He wanted to make an impression on the most dangerous fortress the Tan had constructed in the New World.

The sun's light was gone and the bright white moon looked down at Gurdeaux as he carried his supplies to his quiet quarters. In there, there'd be no one to distract and ask him something about combat and what was going to happen. The barracks would be dead silent and since the choppers weren't leaving for another five hours or so, Gurdeaux could take all the time he needed to ensure his weapons were perfectly capable or carrying out the job.

Once in the barracks and at his bed, Gurdeaux put down the bin on top of the mattress. He first grabbed his guns from his shoulders and places them on the left, near his pillow. Then, he reached in and took out all of the clips. Using both hands, he loaded both guns with a 

magazine and put the safety on. Gurdeaux lined up the clips width-wise and took out the belt. He held it at his head level and stretched it to its fullest.

Carefully Gurdeaux set the belt above the cartridges and started to load up all the pockets with as much as it could take. With eight pockets, he was able to put all of the clips into his belt securely, leaving 2 pockets for whatever he needed.

Then he took out the radio and using its back clip, snuggly fitted it over the bottomless half-circle of cloth, designed to hold such bulky items.

Next were the grenades. Watching the pins, he carefully attached them onto his jacket, clipping onto the specially designed tiny pouches which were in fact to carry the grenades. Though practical, Gurdeaux preferred to have his nades ready to pull and throw. The clips were dreadfully strong to hold anything the magnets were challenged. Digging into a pocket could be costly, wasting more time and allowing the enemy to fire the first shot. With six grenades to carry, his load was still small.

A flap normally fell over and was buttoned, reassuring the troop that these grenades wouldn't fall out. But by all accounts, they were never dependable. Gurdeaux knew first hand how inferior the flaps and buttons could be. He had stuffed his pockets with grenades before, mostly within his first four years of combat, but had learned quickly what to do to ensure proper safety, and that meant using the jaw clips.

Firstly, a soldier would identify the target and place a hand onto the grenade. Second, after receiving the signal to use force, he would make a firm tug and release the nade from the clip. Thirdly, he'd throw the sucker and wait for something to blow up.

Gurdeaux's jacket had taken beating over the years from constant abuse and combat. Each tug of a grenade could easily make a new hole or rip the fabric. It seemed everyday he 

tested the strength of his jacket. Each battle experimented with its durability and toughness to withstand harsh conditions and fierce situations. Gurdeaux selected six so each clip would contain a nade; he didn't want to carry one in his pant pocket. It just wasn't the intelligent thing to practice, now that he knew better.

Last was the knife. He spit on it, wiped the saliva away with his shirt and stuck it in the holder and lifted his right pant leg up. With gentle, caressing fingers he slipped on the holder on his bare green skin. His hair had lightened over the years, even lighting up in color. He had always contained dark black hair on his body and now it was withering. With that aside he wrapped the sleeve of leather around his calve and snapped the tightly fitting holster in place.

Gurdeaux looked up at the clock, reading 6:58. It had taken him longer than expected to get everything ready for his nighttime journey to Sector 8. Everything was prepared and in top shape for his airlift.

Suiting up, he tied the utility belt on, tossed both assault rifles over his shoulders and took a deep breath. His eyes tilted downward as his thumb ran across the surfaces of his rifles. Smooth and cold, it would be stupid to not forget the crucial items of his mission.

Gurdeaux looked back at the clock; it now read 6:59. Gurdeaux had four hours before lift off. The helipad, according to his memory, was a few minutes walk from his position. Gurdeaux had wished for Toole to have given the men at the briefing a sooner time and not create anxiety, so much so that the air would thicken from the perspiring soldiers that lay in their bunks and barracks, sweating and crying in fear and angst, not knowing what was about to happen.

But seeing as everything else about this mission was intimidating and nerve-wracking for them, it didn't surprise him that the lift off time would be pushed back, late into the night and at the end of the day's time.

Gurdeaux began thinking about the men who might be assigned to him. It didn't matter who, as long as a corporal or someone with battle experience came with him. Being a corporal in the Green Army meant you either fought in a battle and done something heroic, or had completed several missions, or survived several battle and attacks.

Whether it was a huge assault or little dog fight served no relevance when evaluation time came around. That was when the leaders, usually of the rank of Colonel or higher, would gather and determine who from where would receive what. Many men reached this ranking but not in the New World. The same could be said for the Tan Army, for in their ranks, corporal was a rank earned. To go beyond that meant a combat record for the soldier. Many of the corporals who wanted to go above and beyond in their military had to fight. Usually when they skirmished, they had to face foes like Gurdeaux, resilient and full of fortitude. Normally a soldier's platoon that matched these traits would annihilate the Tan forces on the spot. Corporals in the Green Army were better than those in the Tan's.

The clock now read 7:02. Gurdeaux decided to leave now. It was always better to be early then on time. In his experience, being early meant getting all the information and not getting stuff thrown at you at the last second. He'd be sitting on the ground, watching the stars, and be asking for nothing more.

With his helmet placed atop his head and his load now clearly on his body, he wandered to the barracks' door and using his shoulder, pushed it open. Having both feet outside, the door slammed closed and Gurdeaux saw the night sky once again. It was so clear, with stars sparkling like crystals in a dark cave, that he stood for a moment and enjoyed the scenery.

For these moments he was glad he fought in the New World versus his. Even through all the horrific action and constant death he was placed in, the times where the stars and scenery 

were visible made things slow and peaceful, fetching a lost sense of childhood nostalgia to his senses.

Gurdeaux continued to point his head up and started to see the constellations his army had come to recognize. At the furthest southern edge of this unknown black blanket a few rows of stars, almost perfectly aligned, reflected upon history, traveling upward into the dark abyss.

The rows became smaller as the eye came closer north, ending up at a single star. This constellation became known as the Triangle. No one understood its symbolic message, or if it had one, but to gaze at something so flawless had to be awarded a name. Gurdeaux then shifted his eyes to the east and found a spear. Around the tip of the line of stars was a group of stars, seeming to explode off the end of the shaft. To Gurdeaux's knowledge, this was Crice: the rod his method of choice.

In the very old times of Gurdeaux's world, there were men thousands and thousands of years ago and had many stories that seemed more hyperbolized than realistic. Nonetheless, Gurdeaux remembered them for their excellence and amazing triumphs.

The story went that a single Green soldier by the name of Crice stood in front of the Blue Army and spoke to their king, Emperor Fixe. Perched on a throne that viewed the immense desert, that is now Wasteland, the lone Green man looked up, gazing at the top of the massive walls to spot his enemy.

He stated that his country would not become their property and took his spear, flung it at the king, and nailed him in the face. Fixe collapsed dead, composing the Blue Army to attack. They launched arrows at Crice, with each narrowly slicing his body and hitting the soft sand below his feet. A pathway of hundreds of arrows followed Crice as he ran with all his might to 

his country. He escaped, miraculously, and went to tell his Green Nation that the Blue king had been killed by his hand.

This story of heroism and defiance to an unruly man was one way to look at this whole war. Many Green soldiers referred to this story for guidance in their thoughts as why they are here, fighting something painted to be a war but that stunk with rancid attrition.

General Sirus was presently to be the role of Fixe, and each Green soldier took the role of Crice. But with new weapons, new battlefields and different views on patriotism and courage, would Crice prevail yet again over his foe, or would Fixe crush him without mercy?

Gurdeaux halted his mesmerizing at the sky and began to march to the pad. Picking his hands up from their sides, he grabbed the handles of his weapons. Most came with one, as his did, but he sometimes preferred the double-handle model. Knowing the others would be there a little before lift off, he decided to stagger slower than usual and let his eyes wonder around, briefly taking in the nature around him.

Gurdeaux loved this New World stuff and hoped he could always remember it not just visually in his memories, but physically in his hands. Before returning back to his world, he wished to bring some things with him. Scientists and people of high military clearance, those always belonging to a top echelon, were given certain privileges and could bring back things such as birds and insects and material back to their world for studying and research.

However, unbeknownst to many soldiers, they did study the objects but kept them secluded for their own personal enjoyment. Gurdeaux remembered a time where he was invited to a meeting at a general's house to discuss military strategies and he saw a large rat in the backyard. It wasn't hurting anyone but was tied up with rope to a large metal stake in the ground. He petted it several times and fed it before retiring back to a base.

This keeping of New World items was common for both sides but kept secret, for should the civilians and lower personnel find out, a sudden anger would immerse itself into the population and cause distrust in the top commanders. To be tricked into supporting a war, just so the leaders could get their hands on New World objects, would never be taken well by any man, woman or child. Not even spoon-feeding with propaganda would make the people of the fighting nations take the cake.

The sergeant walked along the path and came across a sign reading, "Helipad" with an arrow pointing right. So, being the intelligent man he is, Gurdeaux turned right and followed the path more and more.

The base was huge as Gurdeaux already knew but not so much occupied. Many open spaces and areas frequented covered the landscape the base toppled over, creating wide gaps for soldiers to play games and hold events to keep their minds of the war and to think positive. Winding a bit, the path allowed a great view of the large wooden fences that surrounded the base on its back two sides.

Green Base 14 had been designed for defense, so it was no guess it was built in a backyard with two sides surrounded by fences. They were skyscrapers to the little plastic men, meaning that something bigger than them had managed to build this with simple ease. The idea of other living things in this world much larger than what Gurdeaux had already seen frightened him. _How big could these creatures be?_ he wondered now and then.

Surely they had to be immense, but could they also be friendly? If they made contact with these little plastic soldiers, would there be hostility. In his all his days spent in the New World, never once had he seen something as large as the walls or chairs he fought across and bled over.

As he continued his trek, the faint but unmistakable outlines of helicopters could be noticed. Few lights lit the path but still, Gurdeaux's eyes were keen on noticing the choppers on the pads.

Quietly they sat, waiting for their cargo. Gurdeaux followed the path and saw how it led straight to the pads with no meandering or side-winding. It was not so conveniently a straight shot between him and his next encounter with death however.

Homes were dangerous battle grounds. Each new house taken over could hold surprises not yet even though of. Pools, the size of sports stadiums, were found. Some went so deep that a whole block of metropolitan buildings could be swallowed hole, and still leave room.

He moved forward. His hands held both guns. Nothing his locked grip had changed from the beginning of the walk. The straps were tight around his shoulders but didn't bother him. They held the guns in place and let them hardly move as his feet kept traveling, shifting his body up and down with the elevation of the path.

As he crept closer to the pads, he could see the three jabbering about who knows what along with a few soldiers, probably two or three, sitting on the ground, waiting for the signal to jump on. The blades weren't moving and no pilots sat inside the cockpits. Turned to their sides, Gurdeaux looked in and saw no cargo in all three of the choppers. Gurdeaux assumed the escorts were on their way. The three commanders weren't stupid enough to let precious cargo be sent away in a small and much unprotected group. Gurdeaux didn't know how many, but he guessed perhaps four to six helicopters might join in and form the diamond formation for safety.

Gurdeaux was only a hundred feet from the pads. He began to breathe more easily than before for now he could have a few moments to relax and not have to worry about getting ready or reaching his chopper. The only thing that still lingered in his mind was who was going along 

side him and what his objectives are. To divide 21 men into four groups meant that each team had to operate by themselves, at least to some extent. Gurdeaux didn't know how the four would make it from the fireplace to the kitchen and then go beyond that to the closet in one piece. Moving under the cover of shadows and darkness was one thing but between pieces of furniture were gaps of nothing. There was no cover between a table and a sofa, so Gurdeaux's bosses had to have a creative thought in mind for there to be a successful mission. There was no guarantee that all the Tan soldiers had left the house.

As Gurdeaux reached the first helicopter, he looked around and saw nothing but lights, metal and darkness. He threw guns to the ground and sat. Taking in a deep breath, he slid to his back and put his hands under his head. For the next few hours, he was going to nap.

He first stared at the stars with squinty eyes. It relaxed him enough that he could begin breathing deeply and slowly. His lungs puffed his chest out and then sank into a quarry of emptiness. When he closed his eyes, he began tuning out everything and started imagining his home world.

It was a neat trick he had picked up as a corporal while in the Hork Forest from a sergeant who use to have trouble falling asleep. Now almost done daily, Gurdeaux made it a habit to go to sleep like this, no matter what time of day.

He could see the wide streets of his hometown Griyon. His baby sister laughing with her little friends as they played in the broken sprinklers on his family's large front lawn. In the drive way were his mom and dad, sitting on foldable chairs, sipping on cups of juice or alcohol. No matter what time it was his parents always enjoyed a nice taste of rum.

Cars drove by in the streets, trucks and vans, two doors and four doors, of all colors and lengths, gliding to their destination. The houses around his home were all the same size: two 

stories and made of wood or brick. The colors ranged from both ends of the spectrum, from dark blue to bright blood red. An amazing sight was in the pupils of Gurdeaux's eyes.

But sadly it was over. The drawback to the trick Gurdeaux had picked up was that dreams lasted for a short time in the mind, but could last for hours in reality. A whirling, mechanical sound began to sound in his ears, alerting his eyes and opening them wide.

He sat up and looked behind him to see Toole, Oaken and Malist chatting away on one of the pads as the blades of the propellers churned with more ferocity.

Gurdeaux put on his guns and walked up to his commanders. He saluted, and they returned the greeting. "Sergeant Gurdeaux," began Malist, "are you ready?" "Yes general, I am," he replied. Malist raised his hand and pointed. "As always you're early. We didn't want to disturb you. That chopper will be yours," he said, pointing to the GH-67 behind his right shoulder. There were 4 in total, each one to its own fire team.

"None of your men are here and lift off is in about twenty minutes. Go relax soldier." Gurdeaux nodded and walked away from the group and set for the chopper. The helicopters all included missiles that launched from the belly. All four were encased in high-density armor and each one could do enough damage to take out a few tanks at a time. The Tan, should there be any tonight, would not stand a chance against these weapons. However, the house may not stand a chance at all if the escorts were as Gurdeaux envisioned. Usually, the choppers carried bigger guns and heavier firepower. Missiles and turrets came standard on many escorting-type helicopters, so protection was almost certainly guaranteed.

Grabbing a handle with his left hand, he pulled himself into the chopper. Laying his guns down, he looked around inside and found nothing to pass the time. There were no magazines, no cards and no food. Only a machine gun with a few ammunition boxes lay beside him, stuffed 

behind the co-pilot's seat and against the wall that separated the cabin from the belly. Gurdeaux relaxed and sat on his butt. Twenty minutes wasn't a hard time to pass, but tonight was going to be a hard time to get through.

Each minute that went by let Gurdeaux keep thinking of who was coming along with him and whether he or they were going to live. Of course everyone should live, but life isn't fair and war isn't any better. Looking to his left, he saw the privates sitting on the ground. Unbeknownst to him they had come while he either talked to his commanders or walked to the chopper.

They weren't talking. One was tapping his rifle, one looked into the night sky and the other twiddled with the grass, plucking it from its roots, rolling it with his fingers, and then sending it into flight with the breeze that flowed around the men. Each soldier had his own way of dealing with an inevitable event and Gurdeaux's way was to sit and relax.

His heart started to slow down to a steady beat and his eyes became a bit tired. His belly growled a bit with hunger. Although it was to be a short mission, Gurdeaux still hadn't brought any food. He would be in the house for a minimum of twelve hours, he guessed, so food wasn't a big concern. In the worst scenario, he could just bum a ration off one of his own men.

Resting comfortably, he saw out of the corner of his eyes a group of ten or so soldiers walk up to the pads. They had a lot of equipment with them. Some wore backpacks while others had their belts filled. A few of the soldiers looked to be marching hunched-over and exhausted.

Gurdeaux got up, leaving his guns behind. As he approached the young boys, they stopped and looked at him. Reaching out, he touched the first body in front of him and turned him around. He took off his backpack and unzipped the pouch. Inside were rations, grenades and explosives. He took a quick glance at the soldier. Looking confused, the private just stared into his eyes and said nothing.

Gurdeaux shook his head and flipped the backpack over, letting everything fall out and hit the ground. Dust climbed up to the soldier's knees as he kept watching in confusion. Gurdeaux, as he always did, spoke calmly and clearly. "How many rations do you have with you, on your belt?" he asked. The soldier paused for a moment, letting his eyeballs roll to the corners of his eyes and then said, "I think I have twelve. No, wait…. yes I have twelve." "Get rid of all but two. This is a search and extract mission, not an assault. We're coming out as fast as we're going in. Get rid of some of these grenades to and leave the explosives behind. You want to bring the backpack fine, but make sure you only have clips for your gun, and three or four of those grenades. The rest of you follow suit, understood?" All the men straightened up at once uttered, "Yes sir!"

In synchronization, they put down their gear and took out all they didn't need. Little piles started to form with grenades, clips, mortar shells, detonation cord, explosives, and medical kits. Gurdeaux knew this mission didn't call for a lot of firepower, nor needed it and the lighter he and his men were, the faster they could get in and get out. When they were all finished, the men stood up much stronger and breathed easier, for now the weight on their shoulders was gone. Their belts were still full and some had backpacks, but at least a few hundred pounds was now on the ground, instead of on their backs.

The men kept their squad intact and began talking to one another. More soldiers could be seen coming over to the pads. Gurdeaux assumed everyone was here and that the recent ones would mirror what the others did with their supplies.

Gurdeaux walked around the group in front of him and made his war to the big three. Still talking, they eyed Gurdeaux approaching and stopped their discussion. "Am I interrupting?" Gurdeaux politely asked. "No, no you're not," responded Toole. Oaken and Malist eyed each 

other and looked to Gurdeaux. "So, is everything in order?" "Yes, except I don't know who's coming with me," said the sergeant.

Gurdeaux watched as Malist pulled out a sheet of paper from his inner jacket. Folded and crumpled, it came undone loudly as Malist unfolded it in his hands. "Sergeant Gurdeaux, you will have Privates Eckers, Rigger, Kline, and Tyson, along with Corporal Dachun."

Gurdeaux breathed a heavy amount of anxiety from his lungs. His wish of having one corporal came true. Now he knew that someone in his group, other than him, understood what was at hand and could definitely help when called upon. "Thank you," said Gurdeaux and he walked off aside from the three. He stopped just on the edge of a pad and looked back at the stars to see twinkles and the moon glow with beauty. Tonight was getting better and he only hoped it would progress in that direction.

"Alright gentlemen gather around," yelled Malist. Each soldier, including Gurdeaux, looked back and formed a circle around the three commanders. Silence arose and stayed as Malist reopened his mouth.

"Men, tonight you embark on a mission of high importance. If anything, you should damn well be honored to be part of this assignment. These pilots are experienced and will bring you to the drop zone as quick as possible and as safe as possible, so don't worry."

Gurdeaux hadn't noticed but a group of six pilots, the majority of which were going on the mission, had gathered to the left of Malist and were nodding in unison. All wore dark green, as is the Green Air Force's standard uniform, and they watched each private and corporal look back at them. As they were being examined, they noticed Gurdeaux and some let out a smile. Though short, it was still noticeable.

"Also," continued Malist, "you will be slapped onto a rope and dropped through the chimney. Once at the bottom, you will untie yourself and wait for everyone to be in the fireplace. Once that is done, you and your squad members will go where we tell you to go. The rest of the information will also be told to you by us when you need to be notified. Any questions?"

The privates, the corporals, the pilots and Gurdeaux were motionless and made no sound. "The radio channel that we will be broadcasting on is 453. I suggest you you're your radios to that channel now." As was expected, Gurdeaux and the twenty others adjusted their radios to C-453. Alright gentlemen, let's go!" Malist exclaimed. "Ra-ha! Ra-ha! Ra-ha!" yelled the privates as they went back to the choppers, pumping their fists into the air, some with their guns at their end of their finger tips. It was the chant of the Green Army before going into battle, something now seen often nowadays.

Gurdeaux traveled to his chopper and sat in. Using both hands he placed both his guns under his legs and planted his feet over the straps to minimize any movement. He wanted to get a good seat so he sat in the middle. If there was to be gunfire from the Tan he wouldn't have the highest possibility of being hit and before takeoff, Toole, Malist or Oaken would definitely make sure of his seating position for safety.

Gurdeaux didn't have a seat belt but noted a handle above and beside him. As his squad filed toward him and the chopper, he raised his left arm and grabbed a firm hold on the handle. The pilots, still hard to see, lingered in the back of the group of soldiers and made their way to the cockpit. Two eventually boarded with the squad and began switching buttons up and down. Wind began to pick up as the propellers rotated gently above. The cockpit was fully visible and had a wide enough passage for both pilots to get into the belly of the aircraft, where Gurdeaux and his men sat at the moment.

Gurdeaux could three waiting to give the signal. On board was his squad who didn't seem nervous but didn't seem alive. Gurdeaux looked to his right and read the man's jacket: ECKERS. Eckers sat beside Gurdeaux and opened his backpack once more. If he had forgotten anything it was a bit too late to go back and get something.

All their bags were now full and their hearts pounding fast and heavy. They stayed to the sides of the chopper with slate-like faces. No expressions were chiseled on them. Their complexion of green started to fade as the blades began to hurl faster and louder on top of their ears and heads. Fate was an ironic thing, for every person who lived ultimately had the same fate: death. No one could predict it and these men were now trying not to think about it.

Engines were roaring, noises rattled the helicopter loudly and the privates kept to their composure, though surely energetic for what awaited them. Malist walked a few feet away from Oaken and Toole and stood. With a quick hand, he gave the thumbs up and the first chopper took off. The rest left the ground and hovered over the ground and crept higher and higher as the airborne helicopter ahead began to fade into the darkness. The only things that still made it visible were its flashing red lights on the back of its body. This was the only way to make sure it stayed on route to the house.

Gurdeaux felt his body rise and lean forward as the nose went down to gain speed. The men beside him grabbed onto the handles and held them tight. Though having experience in the air was a requirement for graduating from basic training, few did it more than once. Perhaps this could add another reason as to why the war continued: crappy training. Ill prepared they sat and waited for the chopper to stop moving.

Gurdeaux hadn't noticed it before but the one of the wooden ammo boxes next to the mounted machine gun onboard didn't fit the correct profile. It was longer than what the standard 

ammo box looked like and was not locked. Ammo cases were locked by commanders for security reasons, with them only having the key.

Curious, Gurdeaux asked the private next to him to hand him the box. Moving his bag and some others, the soldier did as he was asked and handed the box to the sergeant. Gurdeaux opened it and saw a very long rope, along with clips and harnesses. Covered in metal thread, it looked very durable and able to withstand enormous amounts of weight. Gurdeaux closed the box and placed it along side his hip. No one asked what was inside.

The ground couldn't be seen for there were few lights at night in the base. Tan soldiers got trained through light-hunting and it worked effectively against the Green Army. More and more the chopper rose and the helipads drifted away into blackness. Green grass, brown dirt and wooden fences melted away as the squad rose higher and higher.

Through the chopper's blades and night sky, Gurdeaux could see and hear drops of rain begin to fall. There was no thunder and the drops as normal were much larger than those in his home world.

Rain was liked by many Green soldiers for it gave them more cover and refreshed them. The dark sky and rain blanketed the area around them, camouflaging their already semi-dark bodies even more. Tan soldiers stood out in the rain like a sore thumb. Drops of water would glisten off their jackets and bright bodies, revealing their location. Even with the bright uniforms the five men around him they still stood a chance of not being spotted at night time during a rainstorm.

Soothing was the outside sound now. No one focused their hearing on the mechanic whirling of metal, but on nature's wet gift. Harder and harder it started to come down, getting 

inside the chopper and dampening the legs of some of the privates. Their suits would dry quickly, so not a worry stirred up from the group.

"Switching to night mode," said a pilot. Suddenly, beaming red lights lit the chopper cabinet and cockpit. Gurdeaux shook his head. Seeing red in the middle of night was not a normal thing and would give away their location. He wanted to tell them to turn the lights off, but when he looked to his right, he could see two other glowing red bodies flying in midair.

Minutes went by and the ride remained steady. Hardly a bump was felt by the soldiers. Gurdeaux kept his eyes on the floor and rain. Staring at a private may unsettle him and cause more panic than what was already inside him, and not being shown.

Looking to his left now, he saw faint green lights coming at him. Four or five he first guessed, but as the ride continued, it became ten or eleven that he could easily spot. Toole hadn't mentioned this in the briefing, and probably didn't want to. If the men coming along with him were to know of how safe their ride was going to be, i.e. they were to be protected by escorts, their guard would be let down and the mission could be jeopardized, as a commander would say.

Gurdeaux underestimated his commander's thoughts on escorting and smirked. Flying high above any yard or house and along with escorts, he knew they were now surely protected.

"Sir?" said a voice to Gurdeaux's right. He panned and saw a private gazing at his face like a worried puppy. "What is it kid?" responded Gurdeaux. "What can we expect tonight?"

"For starters, there's going to be a lot of explosions. We're going to set off a lot of alarms when we reach the roof, so make sure your gun is in your hands." The private swallowed and wrapped his fingers around the handle and barrel of his assault rifle. Though Gurdeaux couldn't see out of the back of his head, he imagined the others over-hearing him and performing the 

same reaction. Even the two across Gurdeaux, sitting next to the wooden ammo boxes started hugging their rifles like new born babies.

"Next, we're going to take a lot fire from anti-aircraft turrets as we slide down the rope, so go fast and never look up to see how the rest are doing. If you feel any slack, don't worry… the rope has been severed and you're plummeting to your death."

The private turned away and began to shiver as he watched the rain fall around him and the chopper. Gurdeaux smirked and showed his teeth. He reached out and tapped the private on the shoulder. With his index and middle finger he caught the private's attention. His mouth was open in angst.

"Son, I'm fooling with you." The private's eyes grew wider than before, now totally confused than scared. "See those green lights over there," said Gurdeaux as he pointed past the private's face, "those are escort choppers. They'll make sure we're safe from any fire the enemy offers us tonight. When you're on the rope, just go at your own pace unless told otherwise. And when we're in the house, don't feel frightened. I have a feeling we're going to be almost by our lonesome selves for a while during this mission."

"Sir, what makes you say that?" asked the young soldier. "You just got to trust me," answered Gurdeaux.

Without a hint, the chopper slanted back and tilted, making the privates in front of Gurdeaux come closer to his face as they skidded forward, not expecting such a jolt in motion. They didn't hit him but had they not been holding on to their handles, it would have seemed Gurdeaux and the privates were trying to kiss.

The copilot turned in his seat and looked at Gurdeaux. He got somewhat off his seat and made it a ways from the right side of the cockpit. "We're clear for drop-off, everyone back there 

good to go?" "Yes, we're ready." "General Malist says to use to the rope in one of those boxes. Tie it up to a handle or two and then lower yourself to the fireplace with those clips and that harnesses. It's all in the box. The escorts will stay with us until each chopper is done. Because we have you, we get to go first." "What channel is you radio on?" yelled Gurdeaux. "We're on 456, 456 sir," answered the copilot.

Gurdeaux nodded and without asking, the private handed him the box. He smiled and opened the metal container to retrieve his rope. Looking to his left, he saw a handle on the floor and roof. "Hey, you," Gurdeaux said to the private behind the pilot, "tie this to the top and then to the bottom. Then give me the end," he ordered. He did so and made a quick knot on both handles. Testing it three times by pulling hard, he nodded at his leader he chucked the end back to Gurdeaux.

The sergeant got up from his position and stood upright. Before going to the edge, he picked and placed his guns on his shoulders. With the end in his right hand, he looked down and saw the chimney hole. He had his head out for only a second and already the back of his neck was drenched. The house didn't seem large by any means but the chimney stack stretched for what appeared to be miles. Even with the helicopter hovering a few dozen feet above the gaping entrance it seemed unreal how high the structure shot up.

Gurdeaux tossed the rope down the hole and waited for the rope to straighten out. After that, he picked up a bit and asked for a clip. Eckers handed him a clip and then a harness. The harness was a simple device: four separate laces that all connected to a single buckle. Two pieces, one containing the buckle would go behind the back, just above the waist and clip into one another. The other two would go under the thighs, suffocating the groin, and clip into the buckle.

The clip then went around the rope. They were wide clips, so wide that they could go around the rope and the laces of the harness. Basic training perfected Green troops at utilizing every skill they had at descending and ascending on ropes, using either than hands or harness and clips.

Using a hand below his thighs and a hand above his head, he would lower himself gently to the bottom of the chimney, loosening his grip for a moment and then slowly squeezing his palm back to its original stance. Once at the base of the chimney, he'd tug on the rope, signaling his arrival, and the process would continue with the others.

The rain didn't let up and started to bog down Gurdeaux as he stood on the edge of the chopper. His last drop-in was months ago and in broad daylight. Taking a deep breath, Gurdeaux turned around and grabbed the rope firmly with both hands, with his left under his legs and his right just above his face. His legs hugged the metal-fiber rope. There would be no splinters caressing his thighs tonight, as this was a smooth high-grade fiber, top of the line for the Green Army and Air Force. He jumped out the side of the GH-67, swinging like a pendulum underneath the feat of the metal armored bird.

He started to go down and twirl in the rain along the rope. It was slippery and a slip could send him downward, hurling to an instant death or even burn his hands if he chose to hang on to the twine. However, he didn't lose his grip as he descended in the downpour.

Both hands clung tight as the rain soaked his fists and filled the gaps between his fingers. Water started to run down his neck and elbows, seeping into his jacket. The drops crawled down his chest and back as seconds continued to clock by in his journey to the dark abyss below. His feet wove together to form a hold around the rope as he slid further and further. It took him nearly two minutes, but he landed in the fire place.

Water continued to come down and splash in his face as he untied himself, freeing his body from the rope which dangled hauntingly in the air. He tugged on the rope four or five times to signal he made it on solid ground, and that whoever dared to come next could do so. He grabbed his radio and switched the channel from 453 to 456. With his thumb he pressed down on the side button to speak.

"Gurdeaux to pilots, Gurdeaux pilots, are you still flying? Over." He let got of the side button and waited for a response. "Yes sir," began a voice, but it was loud. Gurdeaux flinched upon hearing the static noise and with a rapid reflex, found the volume dial and cranked it counter-clockwise.

"We saw the tugs on the rope but Malist ordered that we make the boys drop faster, so we made them go in increments of thirty seconds. Over." "Well I can see the logic behind that but I'm looking up and I don't see anyone else's butt coming my way. Did they fall off? Over." "No, they're probably dangling with tears coming down their cheeks, crying for mercy from nature not to make them fall and become plastic pancakes. Over."

Gurdeaux chuckled. No soldier wanted to die in a mess of plastic flesh. It was a quick and painless death yes, but also a horrible mess to clean up. Guts and blood would splatter everywhere, coating the walls with goo and creating stains that even a washing machine of the highest quality would have a tough time to rid out.

His laugh eroded and his thoughts soon went back to being focused on his surroundings. Around his feet were burnt papers and charred wood pieces. A wall of debris now lay to his left, guarding him from the foe lingering in the house.

He couldn't see the living room or kitchen, so he reached out and pulled down a screen of paper to see the spell-binding sight. Gurdeaux saw the pitch-black room. Furniture littered the 

floor and high white walls were blatantly seen with no need for a binocular. Red curtains draped on the windows as the shutters thwarted off the moon's light, leaving the house in a state of calm deadness. Lights of all different colors could be seen far off in the distance near what looked to be the kitchen table and refrigerator. The Tam in this house had become nocturnal, letting their energies come alive for the nightlife.

Thinking quickly, Gurdeaux swung both rifles into his hands by jolting his shoulders forward, catching his guns by their handles and placed his index fingers behind the triggers. Sending them under his armpits, he held a nice, steady grip on his weapons.

Although he couldn't see soldiers or tanks, a patrol could still see them in the ash and soot. He kept his eyes to view as a private came sliding down. "Sir, I…" "Shut up!" Gurdeaux interrupted, whispering in an angry voice. "I don't mean to be rude but we got to keep it quiet for our own safety. Okay?" "Yes sir," replied the private.

Gurdeaux looked back and peered through the burnt newspaper. It's skin melted and completely black; it offered enough cover for him to inspect the walls and distant objects. "Hey," Gurdeaux whispered, "do you have binoculars?" "Yes, here," answered the private, and handed them. Placing both guns at his feet, the sergeant grabbed the private's binoculars and faced the contents once more.

Gurdeaux undid the covers and shoved the tool to his face. After focusing, he saw the kitchen counter and fridge, ducking behind in a faint proximity. Anti-aircraft turrets mounted on top of the counter sent a few goose bumps down the sergeant's back. He then turned to his left as another soldier came down the rope. He undid his harness and followed Gurdeaux's example by pulling out a portable machine gun. "You two," said Gurdeaux, "get good vantage points. We got to secure this place."

The first private went to Gurdeaux's left and buried himself into the ash. The other placed his machine gun on top of burnt cardboard and aimed with his sights. Minutes went by and no Tan soldiers could be spotted. As the seconds ticked, the third and fourth private came crashing down and took positions. Finally, the corporal came down. He glanced at everyone and pulled on the cord. The rope crawled back up and soon disappeared into the chimney's walls. Wet and energetic, he walked to Gurdeaux and tapped his shoulders. He whispered in his ear, "Everyone from our fire team is in the zone. Now we have to wait for the other squads to come down before we pursue our objectives. I've got a radio so the three can keep in touch with us at all times. Our orders haven't been given but I bet we got the most dangerous assignments."

Gurdeaux smiled and turned to face him. "I bet we do. I always do." They nodded in unison. "You seem to be on top of things Dachun. That's a good sign." Corporal Dachun padded Gurdeaux's back and searched for a lookout point in the debris. Gurdeaux walked back to look up through the opening.

The rain still poured but now his chopper was moving away to the right. A few seconds went by until a second green helicopter moved in above his head. He then backed out of the rain and moon light and let the rope slam into the ash and soot. The same process repeated three times. All three helicopters unloaded their cargo and each private and corporal came down without an incident. All unhooked them selves and went into position.

Gurdeaux waited for the last soldier to untie himself before getting back into the downpour. Peering up, the rope winched to the chopper slow but steady. Gurdeaux took one final glance and went back to talk to Corporal Dachun. The rain wasn't letting up, but the sound of splashes and drops bursting on the fireplace floor made an unimaginable feel of peace and serenity. It was almost surreal yet tangible.

Up above, the same could almost be said for the last crew, hoisting the rope back on board the bird. As rope hoisted to the chopper, the copilot turned and said, "Hey Rick, do you know what is going on in their?" Rick stayed facing the glass in front of his body. "The less we know, the better we're off in my book Josh." Josh nodded and took the last few feet of rope on board. His hands were completely wet but it didn't matter. He dropped the rope on the floor and stepped back into his co-pilot seat.

"Damn, that is a long rope, must be 1,000 feet or more; ya, probably more." "Ready?" he asked Rick. "Yep, let's bring it home," replied Josh. Rick reached for his intercom and spoke, "Alright gentlemen, the cargo is at port, let's fly these birdies back to the nest. Chris, lead the way. You're better in the dark than I am." "Roger that Rick, I'll get in front, just get behind my tail. I talked to Malist as the last troops were going in and the escorts are staying with us, so the sides will be protected. Over." "Roger that, over and……….." BANG! BANG! BANG! TING! TING! TING!

Glass shattered all across the cockpit as bullets hurdled at Rick and Josh. The windshield disintegrated in front of their eyes as rounds kept coming toward them and entering their metal room. Rick lunged to the floor and placed his hands over his head for cover. The chopper then titled forward as the joystick in front of Rick moved down. Josh and Rick's bodies only flew forward a little, stopped by their seatbelts, but the sudden jolt caused pain in their stomachs.

Some glass got caught in Rick's uniform and started to make him bleed. Josh laid both hands at the panel and went straight to the defensive measures. A quick counterattack was the only sure way to guarantee some survival. He glanced at the radar and saw the blips popping and beeping with each rotation of the luminescent wand on the screen. Rick bobbed his head momentarily as the bangs desisted and only rain could be heard. He didn't look at Josh. Taking 

in deep breaths, he scanned the blackness around his helicopter. Before Rick could open his mouth to speak, another barrage of bullets came at them. The plastic bodies flung around the metal cockpit, bouncing off each corner and side, barely missing both in their heads.

Rick and Josh grabbed a hold of their sticks and began touching buttons. Rick covered his head with his hands, but a bullet struck his right arm. The impact flung his body to the right and made him crash into the back of his seat.

"Where did that come from?" yelled Rick. "How should I know, let me get a lock on!" An explosion then went off and both turned to view the destruction to their right. One of their escorts got hit and began spinning uncontrollably. The pilot's side door flung open and out jumped the pilot. He didn't make it ten feet before a river of bullets trashed his body, jerking him forwards and backwards as he tumbled helplessly in the air. The copilot didn't bother to jump out. Though the helicopter wasn't very close, both Rick and Josh could see his lifeless body torn apart in his seat. Spiraling and dropping, it vanished into the black background. It crashed with such horrible force.

Orange and yellow flames roared out of the mouth of the explosion, casting streaks of light onto the roof. Shadows of anti-aircraft guns, machine guns and dozens of Tan troops could be spotted.

The rain now started to seep into the cockpit, wetting the floor and their feet. Josh kept his hands on the firing controls as Rick focused his attention to keeping the chopper in flight. "We got to return fire! Did you find a target?" "Give me a minute!" "We don't have a minute." Another barrage of bullets came at them, hitting the side. Their enemy couldn't be seen, but it could see them. "Josh, launch the missiles! Find something, anything and it take it down!"

Josh watched his radar and saw blips appear; they weren't Green vehicles. Touching the screen, his missile sequence buttons began flashing red and white. Missile A was now locked on to the Tan chopper, or turret, or whatever it was. Josh clenched his stick and wrapped all four fingers around its body. "Preparing launch………target locked……..missile away!"

Josh pressed down with his thumb and off went a missile from the right side. Coming from under the belly of the chopper, the two jolted a bit back as the projectile made a visible path, streaming through the water and making drops evaporate with its heat. It turned left and went a distance before stopping. A large explosion ensued and the enemy could now be seen by the wave of bright yellow and orange fire spreading in the air. The missile struck an anti-aircraft unit on the roof of the house. Tan plastic pieces now came raining down off the sides of the shingles, with fireballs chasing after them. But the blast revealed more units near by, and all were now aimed at them.

"All units, fire at the roof!" yelled Josh. No one responded. Either all had been taken down or all scattered away from the landing zone. One of the Tan guns turned and eyed Rick and Josh. The two sat motionless and waited for the firing to commence. One after one after one, a bullet discharged from the huge cannon of the anti-aircraft gun, racing at the helpless Green pilots. When the first bullet hit, Rick's head exploded, sending brain matter into the air. Threads of green plastic blood, resembling water poured from a tap, spat out of his ears and mouth. As the brain and skull flung around, more bullets struck the chopper, hitting Rick and Josh, and Rick's brain, again and again.

No cease fire would occur until the helicopter went down in flames. Josh's body became pulled with tremendous force by the bullets towards his door. The window blew off and Rick's arm went out with it. The chopper started to tilt forward and the two shifted to the dashboard, 

knocking buttons with their dead faces. More and more bullets came relentlessly at them. Rick's body tore open and rib bones broke and shattered as the metal beads struck him.

In one final desperate attempt for defense, Josh pressed his firing button and off went another missile. Although now all the alarms and lights flashed inside the chopper, at least the two would take some others down with them. The missile went straight and then again left. Hitting dead on, the parade of bullets stopped as the gun exploded and took whatever Tan soldiers there were operating the mechanism.

The chopper didn't burn or catch fire as it went down the dark shaft, but it did twirl in circles. Punctured by the large cannon-ball bullets, the engine was gone, dead in mid-air. Tail blades hit the brick sides and scratched up sparks. Both pilots' bodies still tossed around in the chopper. They were pieces of lettuce in a dead salad, still being tossed and churned by the force of gravity.

Tilting to its side, the chopper flipped over and the top blades screeched and broke apart into many pieces as it hit the top of the chimney. Pieces flung to the bottom, smashing into the fireplace. As the chopper continued its torturous journey, sparks landed on the green plastic and made flames appear. The fire didn't spread pass the tail before the chopper crashed into the ash and debris at the base of the chimney. A large eruption broke away from the point of impact as enormous fireballs erupted, sending a shockwave which carried papers and soot into the air, onto the wooden floor in front of the fireplace. The helicopter split into hundreds of parts and bounced off the walls, sometimes coming back to the place where it all started. Some went straight into the air, getting a boost from the explosion. They came down and landed hard but disappeared into the fire.

The fire didn't die down for a while. It took a few hours before everything settled, but although a tragedy took place, Gurdeaux sat by the flames and warmed up. Narrowly dodging the wreckage, he was thankful to be alive. His men and he heard the chaotic gunfire above and went under the opening to inspect the scene. Just as Gurdeaux looked up, he could see a huge chunk of fiery armor coming at him. Lunging out of the way, and knocking two other men with him to avoid injury, the debris shot off just over his head and missed his ears and neck by mere inches.

After landing hard on the fireplace ground, he got up and calmly walked over to the sight. He kept a burnt piece of paper over him to conceal his presence, incase any Tan in the house could now look into the fireplace thanks to the light from the fire.

All the other Green soldiers, all twenty of them, did what Gurdeaux did and became cozy with the new wreckage. One or two let tears drip from their eyes but quickly changed their tunes as they realized nothing would change what now happened.

Gurdeaux stared into the cockpit, which faced them oddly enough. When the chopper crashed, it caught everyone off guard and scared some. They assumed the Tan locked in on their location and began an attack. But when they looked back and saw the downed chopper, they felt uneasy. Paying his respects in the first few minutes, Gurdeaux looked into the cockpit and saw what remained of the pilots. Most of what hadn't been taken off by the bullets held together intact and slowing melted into the ash below their crash site. He didn't salute or bother to retrieve them out of the wreckage, but just watched and gave honor to their heroism. He took the piece of paper off his back and threw it into the fire. Keeping warm was now a new priority.

A few minutes went by before any other men left their post and joined Gurdeaux. They wanted to mourn, much like him, but also needed warmth. No one spoke until the sergeant broke the ice.

"You men don't have much experience, do you?" There were four around him, three on the left and one on the right. He looked at them all to see their expressions, but could only find sad nods, agreeing with his statement. "That's okay. By the time you're out of here, you'll reach the rank of corporal." "Sir I'm already at that rank."

The voice was from the lone soldier to the right. Sitting on his right knee and keeping his gun strapped on his back, his body looked alert but his face was so lifeless, staring into the ongoing flames.

"Sorry son, I didn't see the insignia on your right shoulder," said Gurdeaux. He focused his eyes on the corporal's shirt but before he could see the black letters, the soldier got up and walked away.

Gurdeaux didn't take offense to this. He turned to his left and saw the three in dismay and now with lower ranks becoming arrogant to superiors, the night was beginning to become grim once again.

Two of the three remaining soldiers left a few seconds after the corporal's departure, probably to regroup or find a place to sleep. At this point Gurdeaux wasn't worried. If any Tan were in the building, they would have sent out a search-and-rescue team by now for the downed helicopter, that or an intelligence squad.

But the last of the four was sitting, cross-legged, with his hands pitched behind his back, propping his body at a slanted angle towards the fire. He was young and a private, but was collective and appeared wise. He had no trace of fear on his complexion, even with the 

chimney's shadows and ash glued onto his face. But he looked awfully familiar. Gurdeaux had seen him before… on the chopper! This was one of his men for the mission.

"What's your name son?" Gurdeaux inquired. The boy turned and looked at the sergeant. "I'm Private Kline sir; I'm in your unit for this operation." "I know, I just didn't know your name."

The two gave reflective smiles but then the awkward silence struck amidst the sparking metal and burning paper between them.

"Did you enjoy tonight?" Gurdeaux asked. Kline bowed his head and laughed. "I guess so. I was really nervous. I hadn't done a drop-in on a rope since basic. But I'm glad I got this fire to keep me company, even though there are two pilots' remains smoldering inside."

"Irony is always a factor in war; it keeps it interesting. Read your manual if you got time." "Sir I don't like to read," Kline replied. "Then draw, eat, shoot your gun. To avoid cracking in war you must find a way to past the time." "Well then sir, what do you do?"

Gurdeaux glared at the private, almost making him shrivel up from fear of asking the wrong question. "I mentally depict my plan, the weapon I'll use and the people I'm going to kill. It helps me, but not all. Sometimes I look at nature to make me bear in mind that there is a beautiful world that only few have truly navigated, and yet it still has limitless beauties to discover."

"Some don't do any of that. Some look to "the thinking" to get them to an ease," said Kline. "You mean they ponder theories about supernatural and stuff like that?" "Yes sir, that's exactly what I mean. Have you ever thought about the idea of "the One"?" Kline asked.

"Well, I thought about it and I said it makes things more complicated. I think people are better off not supposing higher intelligence when they can't even prove it. Stick to what you know, what you see, hear, smell, taste and feel, not what you want."

"Sir, it does make sense that something such as the One created all we've seen. If he is all powerful as he is foretold to be, then he can do whatever he wishes."

"Can you prove this One exists, Private Kline?" Gurdeaux posed. "No, I can't but there are many things we can't prove," responded Kline. "We theorize and make assumptions and then people go off of judgment and decide what they want to believe. It doesn't take evidence for something to be true. Sometimes axioms are what keep life interesting."

"I think people who make accusations, claiming that there is a possibility of a higher power, one we have never seen or thought of before is fine. But to actually believe in it is sick. I don't accept everything in science, and what I don't know I don't talk about no agree with."

"Sir, perhaps you need a little dose of non-reality… maybe a little hope," evoked Kline. "I've seen more dead bodies than you could ever imagine private. I will die some day and when I go, I don't want to think about whether or not I pleased something that never told me exactly what to do. My hope is that this war will end. My wish is that it ends while I'm alive."

"I won't stop believing in this one, and I will continue praising his superiority by the ways I was brought into by my family. It helps me sleep at night knowing I have hope, wherever I go."

"Well Kline," started Gurdeaux, "I have hope in myself. And if this one gives you hope it's false hope because you pray to him for you to do well, not yourself. The power of survival rests on your shoulders, not on others. I control my life, no one else. I've been told in the past that I've been chosen, picked out by this One to not die until a certain point. But if that were true 

then that would mean I have no control over my actions, that it's all been preordained without my approval, and that to me is messed up."

Kline got up. "I think you're wrong." The private's words were short and bitter. He walked away and as he did he brushed off soot from his jacket and pants. As Kline made his way from Gurdeaux, the sergeant said, "No, you're wrong and you know it." Before leaving the sergeant's vicinity, Kline spun and said, "I'll see you later, sir." Gurdeaux didn't twist his body to return the favor, and instead continued to observe the fire.

Gurdeaux sat there for what seemed like hours, watching the dancing malevolent flames bounce up and down on top of their new victims.


	8. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7: Move Out**

Gurdeaux woke up and yawned. His arms, which formed a pillow for him overnight, now stretched into the black air around him. The fire from the chopper had kept him warm through the night and smoke was faintly still rising from the rubble. Viewing at the sight, he rolled over to look at the house instead. To both sides were the twenty sitting, talking, eating and watching. No Tan soldiers had apparently intercepted their position of had come to search the downed helicopter. Gurdeaux wasn't amazed but a little shocked by the none-hostility inside this "Tan Fortress". Apparently these troops were stupider than he thought.

Gurdeaux sat up and rubbed his eyes. His guns lay to his left, next to his helmet. Kneeling, he grabbed both guns, pitched them onto his shoulders and slapped his helmet atop his head. Getting up seemed to drain him of the energy left in his limbs but still, he managed. Now standing, he looked for Dachun for a report. If anything had he would have known for sure.

It took him a second to reach the soldier but he managed to reach Dachun, who was off to the right of the fireplace, chatting with the other four privates assigned with the sergeant. Meandering slowly, Gurdeaux made his way through the ash and burnt material that lay at his feet. Kicking up some to get Dachun's attention, he shot up a part of the blade that broke apart last night. Sharp and deadly, it landed and made a rattle that halted Gurdeaux's movement. He himself couldn't believe he had made such noise. Though not on purpose, the principle was still ignored.

"So, what's new?" Gurdeaux asked Dachun. "Nothing sir. You fell asleep only fours hours ago. You sure you don't want some more rest? We got no new orders from Malist or Oaken, but Toole did radio in to check on our status. I guess he's taken control of the operation."

"Well," began Tyson, "this is his mission. After all, he did give the entire briefing." "True," agreed Kline. The corporal and privates stood straight as they looked at Gurdeaux. Ration cans lay at their soles and were bone dry. But in Kline's hand was an open can of chicken. Juicy and leaking fluid over the opened end, Gurdeaux immediately caught sights of the delicious meal.

"Kline, you going to eat that?" asked Gurdeaux. "No sir, it doesn't smell right," he replied. "Then give it here." Kline handed Gurdeaux the can and with a quick hand jerk, the entire contents of the can were scooped into Gurdeaux's right hand. He nibbled on it a bit, testing Kline's idea. But after a few nibbles, and then a large chunk, he knew it was fine. Maybe a little tainted, but still healthy. Gurdeaux ate the serving a few seconds later and tossed the can aside. "Do I disturb any of you?" Gurdeaux asked the bunch. In unison all five said, "No sir." "Good, because I'd hate for that to happen," spoke the sergeant.

No one spoke another word for until Gurdeaux asked a question, but during that time Gurdeaux scrutinized his men and took note of their features.

Although they each had their own characteristics, Gurdeaux could hardly tell them apart. Dachun's body was more buff and thick and his face more round. Eckers and Tyson looked like twins for they each shared longer hair, thin build and square jaws. Kline was thin but strong. Not standing out such as normal soldiers with muscle, his body seemed rather constructed for combat other than showing off. And finally, Rigger, who stood in the back of the group as if not to be noticed, obviously had the most physical traits that separated him from the rest. He was taller than the rest, but still looked up at Gurdeaux. His body was skinny and bony, but muscle still didn't matter in times of war. With facial hair covering his cheeks, chin and neck, he appeared to look the most mature out of all five. His arms were lanky and long, same with his legs. He 

glanced at Gurdeaux and smiled. Gurdeaux mirrored him and continued to discuss things with Dachun.

"Any word on what happened last night?" Dachun rapidly nodded and pointed upward to the light at the top of the chimney. "It seems our choppers got ambushed by some anti-aircraft units stationed on the roof. We only lost three, but two were escorts. I believe Toole said six in total dead, but I might be mistaken."

Gurdeaux looked up, then at the chopper and back at Dachun. "Alright, I think it's safe to say that the Tan haven't come near us, correct?" The five agreed in unison. "Ergo, I think we're safe here until later today where if we haven't moved out, there is absolutely no chance of making it out of here alive. I wish we could get out of this pit sooner, but we have to wait for Malist's, or Toole's, orders. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go talk to one of the three."

Gurdeaux turned around and made his way to a vacant corner with no soldiers in vicinity. As he walked to the black corner, he couldn't help but feel puzzled about how he slept so little and didn't remember the time. Aside from the slight amnesia, he was still fine and had no aches. Standing, Gurdeaux's men went back to their prior discussion: war and tactics.

The closer Gurdeaux came to the corner the more he noticed the detail of the fireplace. Grey bricks were what made up the structure and offered nice warmth as well. Black from the possibly hundreds of fires lit before and the remaining debris, anyone could easily mistake it for black stone rather than its true color. Gurdeaux gathered his thoughts, breathed a heavy breath and then sat down with his back against the wall. Turning the dial to channel 453, he started to here low static. With the radio, he held it to his mouth and began speaking.

"HQ this is Gurdeaux. Do you copy? Over." Silence followed with creeks and scratches that tuned high and low. The pitches of the noises brought thoughts like nails on a blackboard to 

Gurdeaux's mind. "HQ this is Gurdeaux. Do you read? Over." Again silence, but this time it was interrupted. "Gurdeaux this is HQ. Be advised we are very busy right now. Over." "Busy? What… what exactly is going on outside of this house?" "As of right now, we're cleaning up after an assault that took place on GB 5, in Sector 7. It's started almost as soon as you departed from the helipads last night. At least 200,000 Tan soldiers were here. A few minutes after you left, bombs started going off and taking out some of the command posts around the fences and gate. Our boys didn't stand a chance so we went in ourselves, took control and had some help from the 18th cavalry."

"How did that happen?" asked Gurdeaux, with his teeth showing in a sinister smile. "That base should have been secure, even after my men and I were extracted." "Well, it wasn't and we don't know why the Tan have suddenly decided to approach an offensive method, especially in this area." "Could it be because they sense a blow to their efforts i.e. a secret intrusion by several Green squads?" Gurdeaux was smiling even more, dropping his jaw further toward his knees.

"Negative on that sergeant. There is no way the Tan could have known about your operation." "Well, what has Malist said?" "Malist hasn't said anything for 'security reasons', whatever those may be. Him and Oaken are staying hush-hush about this event and won't tell me a single item of information."

Gurdeaux sat silent for a moment, realizing that the man on the other end was Colonel Toole. His smile vanished. This was, at least in Gurdeaux's memory, the first time that Toole had ever been so calm and informative about serious matters such as these.

"Huh, well that's strange…. So, how did this all start?" "Our patrol units didn't come back so no word on enemy movements could be reported. Then this morning the attack commenced and took the whole sector off guard. Even forces inside the house are being fired on. 

We at one point had no idea on what to do to win but we did. The Tan survivors are going back to whence they came, but that I am unsure of yet, probably somewhere close."

Gurdeaux's left eyebrow raised and made wrinkles in his forehead. _Is he serious? Does he really think I'm going to go for this?_ "Huh, Corporal Dachun didn't mention this to me when I spoke to him a few minutes ago." "We haven't told anyone besides you, right now, to keep the morale up. If those men with you were to find out what's going on here, they'd start to wonder if the birds are going to fly in and save them. Don't worry though, this we handled it. Air support helped out a lot, and the plan still follows for you and your men. Do not tell them what happened. Understood?" "Yes sir Colonel Toole." "Over and out."

Gurdeaux let the radio hunch down in his lap as he let all the new information sink into his brain. Reality sucked, especially in war. An entire assault of hundreds of thousands of Tan forces was taking places, meanwhile Toole wasn't coming out with the truth about why things were happening the way they were and to top it off, Gurdeaux and twenty other men were in a house, supposedly the most secure spot in all of the known world, by themselves with a few hours to whatever they wanted. Things were either very good or very bad, depending on the angle of reception.

However, as was always the final perspective on things, this was a bad scenario. In the end, it all depended on Gurdeaux and his men succeeding. Should he die or fail, it would be the end of the Green Army in quite a bit of places in the New World. Their stronghold in this place would sink deep and would take a lot of time to recover.

Now that they only had to wait a few hours, Gurdeaux decided to rest again and wait for the orders to come in. It looked as though all twenty men involved in this operation just wanted 

to get it over with and head out on foot. Top-priority missions made a soldier uneasy for they never knew when things were going to happen.

Gurdeaux put the radio down by foot and put his hands, clasped together, over his stomach. As soon as Gurdeaux started to seal his eyelids, the radio yipped with static and a familiar voice sparked over the device.

Feeling exhausted, he let his hand stick out and picked up the radio. "General Malist, how are you?" "I'm good Gurdeaux," he said. "To begin, you and your squad are going out first and will need to follow the route we tell you, understood?" "Yes general." Gurdeaux let the radio slump a bit from his face as he turned to face his men, still standing by themselves at the wall of debris at the front of the fireplace.

"Okay sir, what route are we to take?" Gurdeaux asked Malist. "You and Corporal Dachun need to lead the men by the base boards on the east side or sink side. Follow those boards and it will guide you along to the kitchen." Gurdeaux made imaginary lines with his eyes on an image of the house he had seen last night. His "map" started to get red lines drawn on a two-dimensional plane as Malist continued to talk.

"After you've reached the kitchen, you will need to go under the dishwasher and sink cupboards, the stove and finally under the fridge where you will then be positioned across from the food pantry." As the general kept stating the plan, Gurdeaux saw how the trail made an L shape going "north", that is to say up from his point, and then turning to face the west, go left.

"The food pantry is where you and the other 3 fire teams will rendezvous for further detail. Any questions?" "No, it's clear." "Good, now hand the radio to another squad leader so him and his men can be briefed on their objectives." "Why don't you just call for their names, I'm sure they have radios and are listening." "Well you're right but I can't get a hold of them. I 

spoke to the man at the weapon's depot last night, and only five radios were distributed last night. One went to you, another to your corporal and the other three to the team leaders. They must have them shut off for some stupid reason. Remember, the rendezvous is the food pantry door. Over and out," said Malist. The radio became dead with just a bit of static on the other end.

Gurdeaux looked up at his bunch, which now crowded around him to hear about what was said. "Guys, we're moving out." The five smiled and high-fived one another as Gurdeaux walked through them and reached a second group of men closer to the debris wall. "Which one of you is the fire team leader?" A thin and short soldier raised his hand. "Malist wants to give you your route for today, so listen closely. When you're done, give it to another fire team leader." The troop nodded and received the radio from Gurdeaux.

Gurdeaux made his way back to the men. His guns on shoulders, helmet on his head and his men ready, it was only a matter of seconds before everyone set foot onto the foreign turf.

The house kept its darkness from last night and still, after all that had occurred outside, only a few more lights flickered in the far distance. The kitchen remained a ghost town from Gurdeaux's naked eyes but still, nothing could be known and no sights could be trusted at this point in the game. Kline and Dachun reached Gurdeaux and copied his actions, standing like a statue, looking off into the distant terrain. Soon, Eckers, Rigger and Tyson joined and within a few seconds, the Aesa fire team was good to go.

Before leaving what had been temporarily a safe place, Gurdeaux called out for the squad leaders to come to him. Three men slowly came forward and waited in silence. Looking at each, he finally was given the radio from the one in the middle. He looked to be the most alert and ready to get into action. The squad leader asked, "Yes?"

"General Malist told you what you and your squad need to do?" questioned Gurdeaux. The three men nodded. "Well forget anything he said. If you haven't noticed already, the house is empty, with the exception of units perched on the roof. Our superiors want us to roam around the house, take alternate routes, but I say we stay as one, follow each other closely and get to the rallying point as quick as possible."

"Sir, how do you know this place is empty? General Malist seemed pretty informed before sending us out, and Toole's photos were very alarming, with all the Tan troops and… Forget about what Toole and Malist said corporal. Trust me on this." Gurdeaux interrupted the young soldier with a loud, angry voice.

"I don't mean to get pissed, but think about it: twenty men go into a house protected by hundreds of thousands in search of a weapon in a secured area. I don't know about you but that doesn't spell any sense to me, unless you think outside the box."

"Sir, I just follow orders," said the corporal. "What's your name?" Gurdeaux asked. "Sir?" "I can't read your name from where I'm standing so say it to me." "It's Penon, sir," answered the corporal. "Penon, we may be here following orders, just like good soldiers do, but that doesn't mean we have no room to question our superiors' motives. Personally I know too much and all you need to know right now is that this place is clear, but not for long. Now, are your men ready to move, Penon?" "Yes sir," responded the corporal. "And you two as well?" The remaining two fire team leaders nodded in agreement. "Then let's move out, in file, standard patrol formation, behind me and my men."

The three saluted and went back to their gear and teams. Gurdeaux spun and saw his five staring at him. "So what do you know that we don't?" asked Tyson. "To put it bluntly, it wouldn't make a difference." Eckers and Rigger rolled their eyes at their leader's answer.

"Something troubling you two?" "No sir," said Eckers, "I just would like to know everything so I can become a true team member." "Oh what's the matter, you going to cry if I don't tell you every damn thing there is to know?"

Gurdeaux's voice was agitated and fierce. His front teeth were showing as upper lip gave way and moved up. The five men began looking at each other in worrisome manners, starting to profuse sweat above below their helmet lines atop their foreheads.

"I get orders and I give orders. I'm sorry if I can't tell you everything now, but I'm hoping I'll figure it out in a short period of time, maybe before we reach the scientists, and let you know."

None of the men moved. Kline's lips started to quiver, nervous of a yelling tirade to emerge from Gurdeaux's mouth.

"This isn't a game gentlemen, this is war. If you want to play a game, go to recess and pull on a girl's hair. Out here you follow suit, whether you like it or not, or you get screwed. Is that clear?" "Yes sir!" the five men shouted. Behind Gurdeaux the remaining fifteen men glared at Gurdeaux's back. His obtuse demeanor was not what men in the past had said about him. Then again, not many people who fought under him lived to tell the whole story. Gurdeaux breathed in. "I'm sorry, but let's go."

Gurdeaux led his group past the other three bunches as he searched for a safe exit from the fireplace. He found one quickly on the left side near the edge of its frame. Moving paper out of his way and throwing pieces of wood aside, Gurdeaux cleared a path for him and the men to walk through as they trekked closer to their final destination. The sergeant crouched down and made slow movements as he inched to the edge of the bricks. Once there, he looked down only to see a short height between him and the wooden floor below.

He didn't have a rope, but a quick jump and smart landing should be all he needed to get down without an incident. Out of the blue, Gurdeaux caught everyone's attention. "Eckers," he shouted, "what time is it?" "It's 920 hours sir," the private replied. The sergeant knew they had plenty of time.

Gurdeaux sat on his butt and let his legs reach over the side. With both hands he grabbed the ledge and swung his body down so all that remained attached were his hands. Dangling in the air, he looked down to see how far up his feet were off the ground. He let go, and softly hit the wooden floor. No loud noise came from his descent, but taking no chances, he went onto his knees to pull out one of his rifles.

Not one Tan soldier could be seen in his sights. The two couches in front of him had no sign of enemy troops and the coffee table between them contained no Tan structures or strongholds. Gurdeaux then peered under the table to see if troops were waiting underneath for a surprise attack. Nothing was underneath or on the bottom shelf. He shook his head in disappointment. Taking one final look from the hardwood floor to the framed pictures high up on the wall, he saw nothing.

"Sir, I think we're clear to move out," said Tyson. Gurdeaux flung back his rifle and stood up. "It's never stupid to be cautious." He saw Tyson look down at the ground in disappointment at himself. Privates were always the first to question their superiors. "Let's move out men. We have a long journey before we can call it a job well done."

Gurdeaux turned right and started walking. He took out one rifle for precaution but let it lie by his waste. He wasn't preoccupied with killing right now. The only thing that nattered, besides his and the others' safety, was admiring the insides of this house.

White walls enclosed all the objects within and made the squads succumb to its welcoming feeling. Few windows were present in what could be seen, yet they allowed the perfect amount of light to come through. Moonlight made everything seem tranquil before, unlike the torturous hot rays of the sun at the present. To a point, the whole family room seemed to be a square moon with no craters. With the white walls, the glow beamed everywhere, coming off anything, metal and plastic alike, that contained the reflecting materials.

Gurdeaux and Dachun led the squad with Tyson following in the rear. The squad didn't only admire the walls, but the fireplace too. The grey stone from which it was constructed dwarfed the green men as they continued to the floor boards on the east wall. To their left, a tall peach loveseat sat with thick leather pillows that made Rigger and Dachun want to jump on and slide down. Bulging over the ends, the pillows seemed so soft and comfortable that even Gurdeaux began wondering whether a detour could be considered. However, being the order-following soldier he was, he didn't, but kept the notion in the back of his mind.

The other fifteen came down without incident and got into formation quickly. For the most part they traveled in a line, but spread apart with no more than ten feet between their arms. Each one stood six to eight feet behind the predecessor and eyed everything. Nothing was for sure in the New World.

The wall wasn't far away but started to parch members of the squad. After sitting for almost all night, surrounded by ash, and waiting for their orders to come in or a wave of Tan soldiers, the men contained little or next to no energy for their journey. Gurdeaux noticed this but kept moving. His grenades hardly jingled and moved as his body moved forward. Even though no Tan soldiers had been spotted, it didn't mean none were lurking somewhere, waiting to ambush the unit or all four of them. Gurdeaux and his men were not about to become sitting 

ducks just to get water into their mouths and stomachs. Drinking could wait, moving was now the primary factor.

At last, with the fireplace behind them and the floor boards to their fronts, Gurdeaux and the others reached their first checkpoint. Now, they had to go under the table, through the kitchen and then reach the food pantry. This seemed easier than he thought, especially with no enemy soldier lying close around. Gurdeaux then became suspicious. With no distant Tan patrol or guard lights in the kitchen and with no enemy fire coming at him, things seemed eerily quiet for his taste. Gurdeaux was use to the whole shooting game, not the covert and undetectable version, especially with the commotion he brought in last night. He was undetectable sometimes, but didn't prefer it. His men started to look around like confused animals. Rotating their heads and flipping them onto both sides one at a time, they too were beginning to question why things had become so dead.

"Sir, may I have permission to ask you a question?" The sound came from the back and Gurdeaux stopped. His feet were now touching the board. Turning to look at the group, he just didn't know who had just asked him the question. "Yes, whatever you want to ask, go for it." Eckers opened his mouth and Gurdeaux eyed him. "Sir, I was under the assumption that this was going to be a serious and dangerous mission, and so far, there hasn't been any sighting of a Tan soldier or occupied or threatening outpost. So I guess you were right. But then why would Malist and Toole make such a big deal out of this place if even a baby could take it over?"

Gurdeaux looked at him closely and stared deep into his nervous face. "Are you complaining that you haven't been shot at, Private Eckers?" said the sergeant, with a smirk on his green face. "No sir… what… what I meant was I was thinking our briefing was wrong and the intelligence was, or is, incorrect. That's all, sir."

"Eckers, there is something going on and we're not being informed. I'll tell you right now that there's a lot more happening outside these walls then could ever possibly happen in here. Every soldier, even those who serve on duty at top bases and act in high echelons, is on a need-to-know basis. It's just the way it is. Our intelligence wasn't wrong, but not accurate as to whether the Tan would be here or not. We're not being shot at or finding something to shoot at because almost every Tan soldier in this house is gone. The reason why is because Toole and Malist have their hands full with the Tan forces from this place over at GB 14."

Eckers looked at the ground to gather his thoughts. "That's why everyone was getting trained so much." "Exactly and when we ask for it, Oaken and some of those men are going to break into this house, cause a distraction and get us out. The men from this base are fighting right now. They'll be back soon, so the less we squabble about petty things as to why our butts are safe the sooner we can go back to base and surely say we're safe."

Eckers paused his breathing and stood straight on his feet. The others didn't flinch as their leader looked Eckers dead in his eyes. No one wanted the commander to be angry, especially one with such an honorable military record.

Gurdeaux sighed and turned back around, facing the kitchen. Though the sunlight grew a bit, the marble counter and wood cabinets in the kitchen still had a hard time being detected and easily made out. The five soldiers followed suit and gathered behind their sergeant. The fifteen others decided to break formation and stay in squares around their fire team leaders. Penon grabbed his radio and dialed his radio to channel 453.

"Sergeant Gurdeaux, this is Corporal Penon of Desa Team. I have a spider in the back corner, left of the door. Permission to shoot, Over!" Gurdeaux looked behind and saw a wooden door with a small window atop, allowing more sunlight to travel in. "Huh, I didn't see that." It 

was to the left of the edge of the fireplaces and a couple feet from the left wall he and his men were now walking towards. In the corner covering a pinch of the wooden floor molding was a black spot.

With a loud voice, Gurdeaux yelled to Penon, "Just shoot it!" Penon was shocked at his leader's inappropriate manner but put down the radio, loaded his gun and with the other four men in his team, shot twelve rounds in the beast, missing him twice.

When the ruckus had died, Gurdeaux turned and yelled, "Is it dead?" "It is now!" replied Penon. Gurdeaux brought his body back to his old stance and continued walking.

Gurdeaux's men looked behind them and saw how Penon and the others had formed. Instead of keeping a line they bundled up and covered both sides of Gurdeaux. Rigger and Tyson came up on Gurdeaux's sides, with Rigger keeping a distance on Gurdeaux's right side. Standing from left to right and behind the sergeant were Dachun, Kline and finally Eckers. "Jealous? You want to show those other fire teams you're more of a protector than them?" Gurdeaux asked, looking at Tyson. "Uh, no, no sir, I… I'm messing with you Tyson. Calm down." Gurdeaux's interruptions stunned the private for a moment, making him rethink his next words.

Instead of speaking words, Tyson chuckled a little but brought his eyes back to looking at the features of the house. The men were now passing the left arm of the couch and following the edge of its backside. To their right was a tall and burgundy bookcase, filled with nothing but barbed wire and tanks. They weren't being used for the mission today, an unfortunate occurrence for such a dependable monster.

"Tyson, why don't you just relax and take nice, hard breaths and look at the house. Don't think about war," spoke Gurdeaux. "Forgive me but it's hard. I've only been out of basic for 

three weeks. I never intended on serving my country like this so rapidly." Tyson's face was depressed. He was a puppy with a caretaker.

"How'd you get in this mess? If you don't want to say, I'll understand." "I was drafted, and… They still have the draft? It's been fifteen years!" interrupted Gurdeaux. "I know and there's a lot of pressure on Orlan to stop it. But you know how politics are." "Yes Tyson I know all too well. He's a good man, but a bad president. Anyway, continue."

"I was drafted about six months ago, spent about five months training and came through the portals three weeks ago. I wanted to serve in the Dirian, because my family owned a swamp-touring business there, but I got sent here."

"Swamp tours are fun. What about your family?" "Well I have three younger sisters, all of them are in elementary school but the second I graduated high school, they pulled my birthday out of that lotto-system on those balls with the birth dates on them, and I was drafted the afternoon I got my diploma. I was supposed to become an electrical engineer but instead I'm here."

"Maybe you were chosen to perform this mission because of your desire to work with electricity. Maybe you'll learn something from this experience." "I might sir, but I doubt it. I doubt I'll get out alive."

"Ya probably we'll all die today," said Gurdeaux. "Well that doesn't help the situation sir," Tyson responded immediately. "I understand private, but the second you start fighting a war you become an optimistic pessimist. By that I mean in the end you know the odds are against you, danger is around every corner and life just isn't fair, but if you can get that last cupcake at the chow hall before lunch is over, your day can't be bad."

Tyson looked at Gurdeaux and laughed. "That's so true, sir. I never thought of it like that." "We all know we die, we just don't know when, where and how. We can choose those factors, to an extent of course, but why bother thinking about how you're going to die when you can think about how many men you're going to kill?"

Tyson nodded with a smile. "Sir if you don't mind me breaking up the discussion, what kind of men are we expecting to find guarding the device?" said Dachun. Gurdeaux kept walking along with Tyson but also kept examining his surroundings.

"Honestly I don't know for sure, but if this is a secret weapon, I'm guessing something like a bunch of Tan Elite Guards or maybe Tan Coyotes. If it's really secure and secret, we're probably going to deal with Black Rangers, they're the worst."

"Sir among us there's really one professional, with the rest being novices. So why is a lone professional with a group of rookies going up against professionals?" Eckers' voice reflected his urge to know. His persistent questioning would have gotten anyone else's nerves rattled up, but not Gurdeaux's.

"Professionals are predictable; it's the amateurs that should be feared," said Gurdeaux. The group walked a little slower from the ironic statement. "How so?" asked Kline. "Well, professionals are trained and follow conduct, like any regular army. But amateurs, like guerillas and defectors and terrorists, don't have a set of guidelines to follow. They do what they please and can't be predicted. These men are in a secure facility, on the look out for enemy forces that might sneak in. We amateurs are going to knock on their front door, and go right in shooting."

"Well then sir, with your combat history, what are you?" Dachun asked. "I'm a professional amateur," replied Gurdeaux, "because I'm so good at scaring the enemy with my unpredictable nature."

The men titled their heads, acknowledging the great answer from their leader. It hadn't occurred to them until Gurdeaux finished his sentence that the men had passed the back of the sofa and were now in front of a large wooden, black-legged kitchen table with a brown wooden top.

All diverted their attention from the sergeant to the curtains on the sides and chairs that were about to come up. The curtains appeared blood-colored but with the light illuminating in the background, they would probably be a brighter red or even purple. The window they laid adjacent to was wide, very wide, but not askew for a kitchen setting. The light shined upon the ridged table legs, marking it as a beacon of significant carpentry.

Black and thin, the chairs were only a few hundred feet away crouched under the wooden table. The chair legs were hiding an obscure structure underneath the table. It was short but long and had many little parts in its construction. From his position, Kline could detect pillows on the seats. Whoever maintained this house was doing a good job. All six men now began wishing that this house was shrunk down and owned by them, instead of an active battleground.

Getting his radio out from his belt sleeve, Gurdeaux radioed in on channel 453, "Team leaders of Besa, Cesa and Desa, we're going in under the kitchen table. Rally up behind me now."

The men behind Gurdeaux's team started to run or jog to the sergeant. Their energy was back and now adrenaline started to pump in their bodies.

Gurdeaux didn't have a watch, but he estimated that at this rate, he and his squad could reach the food pantry before midday-light struck through the glass windows and penetrated the house walls, leaving no trace of a shadow for him to lurk behind.

When all twenty-one men had gathered together, Gurdeaux said, "Make sure your guns are loaded and safeties are off. Let's go!"

It took a significant amount of time before the squads reached the table but it felt so little to all of them. Before going past the chairs, Gurdeaux wanted to make sure the coast was clear. With his gun on his chest, he pulled his body to brush up against one of the chair legs. The darkness nearly made his body blend in with the black paint.

Eckers and Tyson crouched beside him, while Dachun, Kline and Rigger went to the chair parallel to them. His back all on the leg, Gurdeaux turned his head slightly to view the area. No one spotted a Tan soldier while they came to this spot, but still, anything could happen in the midst of this mission.

Gurdeaux could make out barbed wire and a barracks, something even he hadn't noticed when coming to the table. To the left of the barracks stood sandbags, probably taking the form of a machine gun post. And on the right part, a guard tower, equipped with a huge machine gun that dwarfed anything the four squads were carrying tonight. Clear and silent, Gurdeaux let his left hand leave his rifle and signaled for Dachun to move in, forming a solid vertical line with his fingers and moved it forward like an axe.

With Gurdeaux's hand pointing ahead and in the shape of an axe, Dachun, Rigger and Kline moved forward, guns up against their cheeks and eyes peering through the sights. The three branched off and went after different areas.

Dachun took the middle and stayed in his crouching position, while Rigger and Kline took the sides, with Rigger to the sandbag and Kline to the tower. Gurdeaux went in next, followed by Eckers and trailing in the back, Tyson. Tyson walked in Dachun's path, while Gurdeaux went with Rigger and Eckers with Kline. No shot came firing at them.

Penon and his men branched to the left, heading toward the third visible chair, hoping to thwart any possible ambush attempt or any escaping soldiers from the back of the compound. Besa and Cesa teams went to the right, performing the same task. The place would be completely surrounded in a matter of seconds.

Their feet made noises that echoed off the wood floor and up into the rafters of the table and chairs. Encased by six chairs and four table legs, they now became sitting ducks at a deserted outpost. Gurdeaux and Rigger each took opposite sides as they circled around the sandbags. Behind it lay empty ammo cases and a tan uniform.

All Eckers and Kline could fine at the tower were slightly filled fuel barrels and a bunch of spent rounds, most likely from the gun above. Kline thought briefly, and then acted. Wrapping his gun around his shoulder, he placed his hands on the ladder leading to the post up top and started climbing. The tower, constructed of black LEGOs, had sanded off corners, making Kline's grip softer than he expected. Eckers watched for a moment and then went back at his alert status. There was no way he was going to die being shot in the back. Kline reached the top in a matter of seconds. Catching his breath, he looked over the rail and saw that the height of the tower was mush different on top than from the bottom view. From his standpoint, he could see somewhat into the fireplace with no binoculars, meaning that if Tan soldiers had been here, they would have definitely spotted them and sent in troops to attack.

Changing his focus, he now saw the machine gun and unscrewed it from its tripod. It was heavy, even for him, but still, he was going to get it down regardless of its weight. Seeing a strap on the side and a handle on top, he flung it over his other arm and began his descent to the wood floor.

Meanwhile on the hardwood floor, Eckers saw Gurdeaux and the rest scout the barracks, looking for any sleeping soldiers or supplies they could use. When Kline came all the way down, he and Eckers decided to join the others in the barracks. As they walked toward it, an askew feeling came over them, sending chills down their arms and backs. Silence could be your best friend or a warning of incoming death for a soldier. For things to be as quiet as these places were meant death could lurk at every corner, on every wall and at every step.

Besa, Cesa and Desa teams finished their sweep and found a back entrance to the barracks. Penon and his men went for the doors while the Besa leader, Private Jentiko, and the Cesa leader, Corporal Gutierez, ordered their men to set up a perimeter, with each man keeping at least twenty feet between him as they lines around the north and west edges of the facility..

Kline and Eckers stepped into the Tan barracks seeing beds on both sides and items belonging to soldiers scattered across the floor. It was like any Green barracks but just painted in different colors. At the far end was a bathroom and shower and to their sides were desks and cabinets for storing and writing letters to loved ones. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary.

"Find anything sir?" asked Eckers. "Not yet, but we're still looking," replied Gurdeaux as he rummaged through a chest. In it were clothes and old books, but nothing useful. "Sir, I found some spare rations. They look pretty decent for eating," said Tyson out loud. "Take them. We made need them if crap hits the fan," said Gurdeaux.

"Hey look, old nude magazines!" shouted Penon. "Oh now you got take those with you," said Kline. As soon as Kline spoke his words, everyone looked at Gurdeaux. Feeling the pressure and an awaited response, Gurdeaux wasted no time. "What can I say? I'd do the same."

The men cheered and laughed a bit at the amazing reply from their superior. Several of the men went to Corporal Penon as he stuffed some of the magazines into his backpack.

Tyson began loading his bag with the cans of meat and vegetables. Tan rations were different than Green ones for they weren't all combined in a single can. Different foods were placed and sealed into cans, so at least their soldiers had a selection rather than luck of the draw.

"Sir, I found something. I think it's a message," Rigger said. Everyone looked at Rigger, standing at the front right desk with his arm raised. In his hand was a white crumpled piece of paper. Eckers, Tyson, Dachun and Kline stood still as Gurdeaux walked to the private. Frozen, Rigger watched as his sergeant gently grabbed the paper out of his left hand. "It's okay," he began, "I am not going to bite you."

Gurdeaux looked at his face for a moment and then down at the writing in his hands. He swung his rifle around his shoulder to get both hands on the message. His eyes shifted left to right, up and down and then looked up.

"We're leaving now!" Gurdeaux walked hastily to the door and out of the barracks before anyone could guess what he read. Tyson closed his bag and looked around to see the others stunned. Before Gurdeaux could come back and order them again. Rigger was the first to follow Gurdeaux, then Dachun with Eckers, Kline and finally Tyson. Penon and his men went out the back in haste, thinking that maybe Tan soldiers had gotten stationed outside. Penon reached for his radio and called in for Jentiko and Gutierez. "Corporal Gutierez and Private Jentiko, have you seen any Tan on your perimeter?"

"Negative sir… Me too, negative. What's going on Penon?" "I don't know yet but stay sharp." As the transmission ended, Jentiko and Gutierez looked at each other and signaled at their men. They brought their middle and index fingers to their eyeballs, telling their men to stay alert.

Once outside, Gurdeaux's men saw that there was no danger posed outside the barracks. Men of Besa and Cesa teams were lined up, backs to the barracks with their guns held against their stomachs. They could see the sergeant walking fast but this time, he wasn't going towards the kitchen or dishwasher. Instead, he banked to the right and was heading for the stairs, where the other groups would probably come to if they were to rendezvous at the food pantry.

"Why are these men scattered?" exclaimed Gurdeaux. He picked up his radio and yelled, "Besa and Cesa leaders, why are your men in a perimeter?" "We told them too sir, we thought we'd take precaution." Gurdeaux sighed but in a delicate and calm voice said to the leaders, "You never set a perimeter around an area until the contents inside of said area are worth protecting. Get your men back into their groups now. And I mean now."

Men from the left and right of Gurdeaux started to run quickly past him as they desperately began coming back to their fire team leaders.

Dachun, Kline, Eckers, Tyson and Rigger sped up and caught up with Gurdeaux just before leaving the shade of the table. Dachun led the men, gaining up to walk beside the sergeant and looked at his face while catching his breath. "Sir, what is it? Are we in danger?"

Gurdeaux turned to him and lowered his walking speed so everyone could catch up and hear what he had to say. As the other four got to his position, Gurdeaux looked around searching for any Tan soldiers in the area, making sure he and his men were safe.

"We need to hurry and get to the dining room closet before any Tan soldiers get to us. That assault on GB 14 was an offensive by the Tan in this house but we don't have much time. This message reads, 'ALL TAN SOLDIERS, EXCEPT THOSE INVOLVED IN 'THE EXPERIMENT' AND THOSE ON ROOF GUARD, ARE TO REPORT TO THE GARAGE AT 1200 HOURS FOR A BRIEFING ON THE GB 14 ASSUALT, TAKING PLACE 

TOMORROW AT 0000 HOURS. ALL IN THE HOUSE ESCEPT THOSE MENTIONED ABOVE WILL BE TAKING PART IN THIS ATTACK. NO ONE STAYS. NO GREEN MOVEMENT HAS BEEN SPOTTED AND THERE ARE NO REPORTS ON FUTURE GREEN MOVEMENT TO THIS HOUSE. IT WILL REMAIN SECURE UNTIL TROOPS COME BACK FROM THE ASSUALT. TROOPS ARE SCHEDULED TO COME BACK IMMEDIATELY AFTER THE ASSUALT ENDS, NO LATER THAN 1000 HOURS. – GENERAL SIRUS.' No one is here, that we already knew. But they are coming come back, and they are coming soon. Eckers, what time is it?" Eckers rolled up his sleeve and read his watch. "It's 953 hours sir." "We've got seven minutes to get to the closet. If we don't get to the scientists and evacuate this area we're going to have to deal with 300,000 Tan soldiers!"

"Sir, why would they leave something like that out in the open?" Eckers asked. "That doesn't matter right now. Besides if they had broadcasted it on a radio or phone message we would have picked it up. You can't hear written words!"

The group stared at Gurdeaux speechless. They were going to be screwed if they didn't hurry. "Dachun, I want you to get on the radio and tell the other squads to meet at the food pantry now. They can run or hop or whatever they please, as long as they hurry. They are in no danger, for the moment. The rest of you follow me to the food pantry where we'll wait. Once there and met with the other squads, we go to the closet door. Let's move!" Gurdeaux folded the paper and placed it in his left front pocket of his jacket. He wasn't going to lose this valuable item.

Gurdeaux and the rest, minus Dachun, started to run fast towards the other side of the kitchen. Dachun crouched down with one knee on the ground to radio in the news. Switching to various channels, he finally got a hold of one squad. "Can anyone read me?" "Yes, who is this?" 

"Corporal Dachun of Aesa team." "This is Private Jentiko of Besa team. What is it?" "We've just read a message sent to the Tan soldiers of this house, telling them to be back at ten o'clock. We have five minutes before they get here! Tell your men and any others you find to run to the food pantry now. Time is a factor here!" "Yes sir, out!" screamed Fulk.

Dachun then switched to another channel, told the same information to Corporal Gutierez of Cesa Squad the startling new information, and then finally Corporal Penon of Desa. Dachun turned off his radio and began racing for the others. As he sprinted, he passed by bar stools and a dog bowl with water. The craftsmanship of these monstrous objects that towered over him could only mean something larger and more powerful than any soldier or plastic body was present in this world.

Besa, Cesa and Desa took the alternate route and went around the right side of the island, behind the bar stool and next to the kitchen sink, stove, cabinets and refrigerator.

Dachun looked briefly at each thing he passed: a cabinet, a framed picture, crumbs, the stairs and last, a dead spider. His heart began pounding away as his feet carried him closer to the food pantry. In the darkness, he could shadows made by the kitchen wall beside the fridge that with the food pantry door and wall made a tiny hallway. He could make out outlines of figures resting on the ground. Gurdeaux and the others sat and waited for him and the other three squads to hurry over to the rendezvous point. Dachun raced on and just when he thought he was going to give up from exhaustion, he came within feet of the sergeant. Breathless, he slumped forward and grabbed his knees. "Tired?" asked Gurdeaux. Dachun looked up and shook his head with a smile. Gurdeaux smiled back and they both began laughing softly.

Dachun filled his lungs with air and went over to the door to rest. It was a sky-touching white door, with a golden handle and scratches at the bottom. Chipped paint lay under it and 

brown wood was visible on the sides near the hinges. It must have been an old door from the looks of it but it still held up, much like Gurdeaux.

Dachun first let his gun, which clung to his back, collided with the door, and then slid his whole body down. When his butt hit the wooden floor, he sighed and closed his eyes. They were now getting closer to the dining room closet and it was only a matter of time before they'd be on their way back to GB 14.

Dachun couldn't wait any longer to see his bed and lie down on a comfortable cot with soft pillows that would let his body mold into them. Though they had only been away for less than a day, it felt like an eternity.

Peering to his right, he saw that the windows began to become brighter. The sun was coming out more and more with each passing second. He looked at his watch and read 956 hours. How they managed to waste this much time he couldn't explain nor even comprehend. The notion that it had taken less than an hour to cross the house, and still manage to be pressed for time was baffling. Perhaps just walking at their slow pace and looking at the scenery which distracted them was all it took to make time fly by. In a little while, their cover would be blown and any hope of getting out with the scientists before the Tan soldiers came back would be gone. But as he turned his focus away form the windows, he examined the floor near the fridge.

At the base were moving objects, dark and coming fast. Tiny in the distance, they would soon be larger within time and at their rate of motion. Dachun knew from the instant he viewed them that they were the remaining squads.

He looked away and saw how enormous the metal box, standing a hundred feet from him, truly was. Silver on the front and black on the sides, this box must have been the biggest ever built. The shiny metallic doors had long curved handles that gleamed moon light toward his eyes. 

With its black plastic trim, the refrigerator stood out from everything else Dachun had seen in the house. It seemed as though it came from its own world.

"What took you so long?" came a voice to Dachun's left; one of the team members decided to give some comic relief. "We're not late. Corporal Dachun told us to hurry and we did," was another voice's response.

Dachun decided to sit up. He had rested long enough and felt more energetic. His gun was still roped around his back and the radio attached to his belt. When he got up, he took off the radio and swung his rifle around, letting it hang in his left hand. Walking sloppily to Gurdeaux, he handed him the radio and said, "Perhaps we should call HQ and let them know what's up."

Gurdeaux looked at him and pondered: the corporal made a good point. No one had notified Malist or anyone else for that matter on the situation. "I'll do it. You lead everyone to the closet and wait for me to join you. Then we'll go in and breach the area." Dachun nodded and hurried away to his squad to tell them the new orders. Gurdeaux looked at the other squads. "You'll follow Corporal Dachun. He knows what he's doing. Just listen to him and you'll be fine. Sorry to make you run but we don't have much time."

Most of the soldiers nodded and proceeded to Dachun's position. Gurdeaux looked back at his men and turned to face the bar stools. It was a wide open area and seemed quiet, but he decided to talk on his radio by the food pantry door. Also, he thought that since it was almost in the middle of the house, he could see any movement should the Tan be returning.

When Gurdeaux flipped on the radio, it squealed and laughed with annoyance. The frequency was off and the high-pitch static irritated his ears. Turning the dial to the right channel, he started to feel the ground tremble. His toes caught a glimpse of the eruption below. Though it was faint and it quickly vanished, he looked around. Nothing was on the stairs, by the kitchen 

table traveling in the hallway. The hallway that led from the kitchen appeared to link up with the garage. If the Tan forces were to come back this way, he would definitely see something. Gurdeaux held the radio to his cheek and opened his mouth.

"HQ this is Gurdeaux, do you read me over?" Silence followed. Again, Gurdeaux spoke and repeated his phrase, but nothing came afterwards. Staring at his radio as he dropped it to his waist, Gurdeaux wondered if Malist, Oaken and/or Toole were still alive. Gurdeaux didn't want the death of his superiors to be the truth behind the voiceless response on the other end, so he tried once more.

"HQ, is anyone there?" "He… Gur… lp…" Gurdeaux couldn't make out what was being said on the other line. "Hello? HQ, are you there? Can anyone respond?" Gurdeaux started to feel the world revolve faster underneath his feet. Pressure began increasing on his body and sweat came from his pours and onto his skin.

"Gurdeaux?" suddenly came from the radio. "Who is this?" "Gurdeaux, this is Oaken. Are you okay?" "Yes sir, what's going on?" "Oh we're just having communication problems at HQ. This assault on GB 14 disrupted a lot of electrical things around the near by bases. No one knows how it all happened."

Gurdeaux breathed out anxiety and his lungs rose back to their normal position in his chest. Gurdeaux couldn't believe he had all that worry for nothing. "Sir, we've discovered some startling new information. The Tan troops in this house are behind the coming back to the house right now. I'm guessing you already knew that they were the ones you just fought?" "Well, yes, but… You always were a smart one Gurdeaux." "Yes colonel. Now we're at the food pantry and are about to go into the closet. We ran into a barracks underneath the kitchen table and discovered an important document inside, which details where and when the Tan were soldiers 

inside this base were going and coming." "Gurdeaux, is this for real?" "Yes sir." Gurdeaux looked down his jacket and saw the bulge in his left front pocket still visible.

"Good job on getting to the objective so quickly. I'm sure the intelligence guys are going to process the document well to find out who is behind the whole attack. I don't know and Toole and Malist claim to know nothing. But do you know when exactly the Tan are coming back to the house?"

Gurdeaux felt another rumble below him. This time the tremor reached up to his knees and became more violent. He turned around to face the white wall the pantry door latched against and moved to his left. Once away from the wall he could see another long hallway, leading past the stairs. On the left was yet another door but at the end of the hallway was the real picture. A white door with a golden knob lay perfectly dead ahead of Gurdeaux. On the left was an open area and on the right nothing but a corner. However, on both sides of the door were little LEGO structures and sandbags: guard posts for the door.

The message mentioned they'd be briefed in the garage, so it was perfectly plausible that their departure from the house and arrival would all come from the garage entrance. All was silent and Gurdeaux stood motionless.

"Sir……I think they're coming right now." "Well then move out and we'll get our boys ready for their part. Move Gurdeaux, move!" The radio became silent and full of static once again. As Oaken talked, Gurdeaux allowed the radio to slide down away from his face and to his stomach. He watched as the door creaked open, bit by bit away from the frame, letting a sliver of blackness crawl between. The gap wasn't widening fast but the fact that it took its time only made Gurdeaux watch ever more closely.

He didn't move a joint or an appendage as the mystery unfolded before him. More and more blackness appeared in between the door and the thick wooden white frame. Nothing was coming out; even noise didn't pop through and reach Gurdeaux's ears. But the tremors continued to shake the floor under him as his eyes widened to view the enigma. What was going on he had an idea, but he would soon find out.

Without a hint the door nearly flung all the way open on its hinges but was stopped short of the guard post by a small chain attached to the top. A cooling wind came after Gurdeaux and smashed into his body. Goosebumps penetrated his skin and covered his arms as the new breeze gave a calming rush to his warm green body. The inside of the garage could not be seen and the floor rumbled with the smashing sound traveling at Gurdeaux. A large series of brown squares covered up what should have been a clear shot into viewing the contents of the garage.

Standing, he couldn't see much but tiny little light-colored objects were moving around at the base of the door. Gurdeaux felt his heart beat faster and faster as he tried to make out the figures he was observing. He didn't know at first but when a tan-colored helicopter flew out of the garage and hovered over the door, he knew what was coming. The Tan soldiers had returned and were going to make sure their house was brought back to security. Gurdeaux didn't have time to wait and see if they would spot him. No thinking came about his brain as he turned right and dashed for the squads waiting for him at the closet.

He kept the radio in his hand as his arms pumped harder through the air, gently cooling his face. His guns twirled and bashed on his back. The straps were short enough but somehow they managed to let his rifles slip to his waste and knick the back of knees, causing him to run harder toward his men.

He panted, and then heaved, and then gasped to intake air as his body came closer to the closet. He was now passing the food pantry and yet the noise didn't seem to let up. Helicopters, several maybe even dozens of them, began to break the cold dead silence that had encompassed the house. Gurdeaux couldn't tell but by the looks of it, the men standing at the door, waiting patiently for his return seemed to look at him as if wondering why he was running.

His sprint to them was becoming erratic as his arms lunged forward and backward and his legs took longer strides. He didn't dare look behind him to see if a chopper had spotted his position or had seen his movement. Gurdeaux was not about to take a chance and slow down his chance for safety. Though he hadn't really imagined what waited for him inside the closet, he did theorize that the contents would be safer than what was about to be unleashed on him and his men.

Now he entered the dining room, at least what looked like one on the first impression, and still it looked as though he was far away from his men. Though didn't look, the table on his right had a huge fortress on top that could be seen for miles. Gurdeaux didn't bother to look at the monstrous towers jutting out above the polished furniture and kept running.

The light glared up the windows, but Gurdeaux didn't look. With enough light to see every crevice and detail on the rug that was flattened beside him as he raced down the wood floor, the dining room now looked royal. Sofas, chairs and vases were now appearing out of the corner of the sergeant's eyes. The front door was wood like the floor. Same color and probably the same wood, it blended in and jutted out from the white walls that kept the room above ground.

His men now started to wave at him and yell his name. The distant cries of _"Sergeant Gurdeaux!"_ were now beginning to echo in his mind as his feet brought him closer to the men. 

Gurdeaux didn't take the time, not even a split second, to admire the fine furniture and art work that lay in the dining room. His focus was solely on getting his butt out of harm's way.

The men's faces started to clear up and soon, he could see Dachun and Rigger, watching his strange behavior. No one at the time knew why he was running at them. Dachun and Rigger looked at each other and shrugged. "What's his deal?" Rigger asked. Dachun turned to get another look at Gurdeaux. "I don't know," he said, "but something's going on and he doesn't like it."

Dachun took a look at the men around him to see what they were doing. Some were minding their own business, sitting on the ground and chatting while most were standing and viewing Gurdeaux charge at them. Dachun then felt a shake beneath him. His eyes widened. He didn't know what it was, but he looked back at Gurdeaux and decided to not take any chances.

"Everyone, get ready to go in!" he exclaimed. Soldiers looked puzzled but when they now realized Gurdeaux was only seconds away and that Dachun had began locking and loading his rifle, they knew this was no joke. Each man got up and held their guns in hand. Not one was empty of a magazine and each one now had the safety off.

Gurdeaux finally joined his men and the others. "Sir, what…." started Tyson but he was quickly interrupted. "We're going in! The Tan have come home and are not going to welcome their new guests. Let's go in on my count!" yelled Gurdeaux. He tossed the radio into his empty belt sleeve as he dashed past Tyson and hit his back against the door. "Does anyone know how to open the door?" No one conjured up a response as they all looked in amazement at each other. The whole time they were there, waiting for their leader to show up, not one of them had thought about opening the door.

"Does anyone know how to open the damn door?" Gurdeaux asked again and again, there was no response. Gurdeaux turned his head to his right and saw a Tan chopper now hovering where had been only a minute prior. Out of the awkward silence came a shrill voice, "Toole didn't say anything about that at the briefing. And you said we were going to knock on the door anyway."

"Well then," he began, still watching the chopper, "I guess we'll just have to knock." Dachun became confused. Their mission was based on secrecy and stealth, making sure their presence would go unnoticed. And now, after what was about to happen if they didn't get away out of the path of the incoming Tan troops, they were now going to ask permission to get inside the closet. He realized the sergeant wasn't kidding about before.

Gurdeaux swung around one gun into his left hand and held it by its handle. He left the other one on his right shoulder. Using his right hand, he gently knocked on the door and quickly moved to the frame below the hinge. Thinking again, Gurdeaux took hold of the strap and moved it over his head to now hand across the neck as well. Now he could get into the closet without any problem. He hadn't noticed before but the sun now shined on his face, making him tear up a bit. The dining room was beautiful he began thinking. It had transparent curtains with floral designs. To the right along a wall was a glossy table with six seats. This house was something Gurdeaux was now starting to love and unfortunately, something he would also have to leave.

"Get behind me," he ordered the rest. "Stay with your team leaders and everything will go smoothly. I will go along the left side of the closet with the first and second squad behind me. The third and fourth take the right side." Men pounced into their positions, loading their weapons and tapping their helmets for good-luck.

The twenty soldiers did as they were requested and stood in two long lines behind the sergeant, with each squad leader at the helm of their group. Each squad formed together so when they invaded the closet, they would stick together and move together more easily. When the door would open, Gurdeaux and his men would get in first, and once in, the second column of green soldiers would strike the closet.

Though the squads weren't told how to break into the closet exactly, whether crouching, running and other variations, these men were trained well enough to know how to move in and not collide with one another. This was standard Green formation for a Knock-On, the name the Green Army used for what was usually called by civilians as a door-to-door search patrol, or DDSP.

Gurdeaux slowed his breathing and closed his eyes. He envisioned thirty, maybe fifty Tan soldiers securing the scientists inside. But because the photos only showed the scientists, he didn't exactly know how many men were waiting for them inside. These men must have been of high consideration to protect men of this importance, and if this were to be the case, they would not go down without fighting with every ounce of strength in their plastic bodies. They were some form of elites, ready to fight to death.

After this thought, Gurdeaux opened his eyes and looked at his team and the other men behind him. They stood frightened and worried about what would happen to them. "Don't worry," Gurdeaux spoke softly. "Just don't worry and you'll be fine." Some nodded while the rest, like Rigger and Kline, watched with a face of pale green plastic skin. Gurdeaux raised his gun up to his head level. If someone was going to answer his call, they wouldn't be standing.

The door then cracked open and a Tan face popped through to view who had disturbed their closet. He was a soldier, a young one, and squinted as his eyes adjusted to the new light he 

had just let his face plunge into. He couldn't tell who was now in front of him, or what for that matter, but it was green. He didn't want to make a huge fuss or sound the alarm until he knew for sure that this was a foe.

A second later, his eyes became immune to the sunlight shining through the windows and gasped. In front of his forehead hung a Green assault rifle that was about to blow his head off. The short pipe that nearly touched his head was black and metal. The soldier's heart started to pump at an enormous rate. Tan blood now bounced around in his veins as he horrifically watched the gun not fire at him. He didn't understand. The green soldier in front of him was not shooting at him or hurting him. He just stood and looked into his eyes.

Gurdeaux watched as the Tan soldier let his jaw slack, most likely in disbelief that he hadn't fired yet. It wasn't that he didn't want to blow the brains out the back of the poor young man's head, but not like this. He stood helpless and didn't have a chance.

Now at least three seconds had gone by and nothing happened, except the tremors below Gurdeaux's feet. They were getting louder and echoed along the floor. The men behind him stood in confusion. Some couldn't tell what was going on but those who could see the Tan soldier in the doorway knew exactly what thoughts were now churning in Gurdeaux's mind. Gurdeaux took in a breath and then pulled back his finger, letting the trigger come back, allowing the hammer to punch the back of the bullet and send it into the air. The bullet, now coming at the Tan soldier, and wasn't going to stop.


	9. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8: Dog Fight**

With a swift through and through shot, the Tan soldier's brains splattered out the back of his head, and through his helmet. The brain matter and blood landed on the hardwood floor bouncing off and running into the collapsing body. Not strapped under his chin, the helmet came off and flew backwards, tumbling over and over from the force's impact, following the path of his skull and brain matter. His mouth stayed open and his eyes kept locked on Gurdeaux as his life ended and his body became paperweight. The quick jolt of the head away from Gurdeaux allowed him to see deeper into the closet, which illuminated with the sunlight from behind. As the soldier's body came crashing down to the wooden floor, his arms flailed and legs kicked from under him, allowing his body to jump off the ground and kick Gurdeaux in his shins. His gun hit the floor, alerting the other Tan soldiers around him.

When the Tan soldier finally hit the ground and the thump sounded through Gurdeaux's ears, he stepped into the closet and the fight began. All around him were stairs and desks, cluttered with foreign objects and papers. Behind these obstacles were scientists and Tan soldiers who wore elite insignia on their shoulders. Blue bands, fitted across their biceps, with black circles in the middle and a red dot to cap off the features could be seen all around the closet. They represented the TEG, the Tan Elite Guards. They were now around the edges of the closet, guarding whatever priceless information or experiments were taking place.

They spotted Gurdeaux but didn't react in time. With a firm pull and hold of his trigger, Gurdeaux sent rounds in each direction, taking out any enemy soldier he could see. BANG! BANG! BANG! Two elites went down, grabbing their chests as the bullets inserted themselves. The men following Gurdeaux rushed in and mimicked him.

The closet was a masterpiece of design, fully equipped for the men inside to conduct their elaborate plans. On the walls were metal stairs, embedded into the closet's plastered sides. Following the stairs were platforms, metal and solid with black paint and millions of holes. They were held up by pillars underneath and refortified by arms that dangled above and overhead, pushed into the walls like the stairs. Lights hung on the walls, illuminating the room.

In the back of the closet were crates, boxes, desks and chairs, covered with binders and papers. Seeming like a warehouse, the closet's frontier was becoming more mystifying.

Dachun and the rest of Aesa Team took the left with Gurdeaux as did the members of Besa behind. Bullets started to ding off the back of the hinge, nearly striking Gurdeaux and the rest in the head. Sparks flew and landed on the necks of the Green soldiers. Only some of the elites started to shoot at them while the rest tried to come to the realization of what was happening. The breach must have taken every one in the closet off guard, surprising them with their impregnating intrusion.

All the elites had guns and when Gurdeaux went in, some were ready for firing. Most were strapped and hung around the backs of the TEGs. This must have been a huge surprise. It wasn't until their comrades began dropping did they realize what was happening. No one ever expects there to be a breach in a secured facility, even when trained for it. But as all things in life, nothing is for sure.

The penetration of the closet didn't sound any alarms or bring about calls for alerts. It seemed as though those inside who weren't Green just watched as their little operation began to fall apart.

Desa and Cesa Team went in the right direction, with a few of their men heading more straight into the belly of the closet. Though not entirely in his view as he focused his mind with 

the immediate action, Gurdeaux took full knowledge of the large white tarp in the middle of the closet, dwarfing all other objects around.

All brought their rifles to their faces and emptied their magazines. Each discharged bullet sent a metal jacket flying into the air. As the jackets tumbled in the air to the height of the soldier's helmets, bright lights emerged from their rifles as more bullets discharged and came at the elites.

TEGs were known to fight to the death for any circumstance. Their life wouldn't simply go down by a mere few bullets. It usually took an onslaught of metal pills to penetrate their bodies to bring them down. And it was what the Green soldiers were prepared to do.

One by one they kept firing. Everything seemed to go in slow motion, both their movement and that of the Tan elites. As the elites came running to get into a firing position, their chests would start to spew Tan blood as the bullets riddled through their bodies. Yet still they ran and ducked or crawled with each last breath. Gurdeaux launched seven bullets into one TEG and still he came charging at him. His cheek bleeding from a wound, his legs stumbling from gun shots, he climbed along the hardwood floor, struggling to regain his balance. In his right hand was a TAR56, fully loaded with a 25 round clip and laser-guided scope. It wasn't until Gurdeaux shot an eighth shot into his skull did the attempt finally stop.

Gurdeaux pressed the clip-release button on his gun and out fell cartridge. He checked his right side, looking past the white tarp that stood amidst the fighting men. He could see no downed Green men, but adjacent to the structure underneath the cloth were huddled scientists, fearing for their lives.

The men of Cesa Team focused their attention on the top level where most TEGs remained standing as they kept looking down at their foes assaulting their fortress. The elites 

were giving the green foes everything they had. The incursion was going well for Gurdeaux's men, but with the brutal scene of raining bullets would have made a civilian think otherwise.

The scientists did not look around as the attack continued. Sitting close together they warmed each other as chills ran down their bodies with every sounding bullet fired from an assault rifle.

As they sat in the center the tarp became shredded by ricocheting metal flies, zooming in the brightened air. The giant white cloth had bulges: something was underneath, as Gurdeaux had already observed, and it was of very immense value to these geniuses.

Slowly one of the scientists stood up and watched the spectacular sight. He watched in horror as a body dropped in front of his feet from a grenade explosion in the back of the closet. He shrieked and jumped back, grabbing his heart as it pounded through his tan skin. Their little secret was about to be revealed to the last people they wished it upon.

"We need to get out of here!" yelled the standing scientist. He took hold of his colleague and pushed him away from the tarp. One by one the rest scattered, breaking apart their tiny group. Some crouched for cover as they ducked to get away from any bullets. But most just ran away toward the stairs, trying to get a hiding spot or something along those lines. The ordering scientist and his friend rushed to the door that the green men had emerged from. However, a member from the Desa Team stopped them in their tracks, shoving the end of his rifle into their faces.

Gurdeaux kept firing and hitting Tan elites as the attack continued. Bullets holes kept being produces behind him, but still nothing hit him. Even when he paused his movement to reload his gun the TEGs just couldn't hit the mark.

Aesa and Besa Teams shot faces, arms, legs chests, and groins. Anything that came into their crosshairs was fair game. The TEGs fell like moths into the flames. Most bullets they received went into their chest, rendering them harmless and unable to get up or use their guns. As their lungs ballooned into blood-filled sacks, their eyelids drooped over their pupils, fading away the last sight of their memorable loss.

The elites returned little fire at Gurdeaux and his men. Their main focus was drawn to the men closer to the door along the right side of the closet. Desa and Cesa Teams had run into a corner, pinned into the part of the closet with no stairwell. As they ducked under the metal platforms for cover, they received fire from above and were forced to take refuge behind desks and broken chairs. The accuracy of the TEGs was deplorable. Few times did their metal slugs get near their targets, missing the green men's bodies by mere inches.

The commencement of the closet breach had started well and was now passing the middle phase. Some TEGs fell over the platform railings, slamming head first into the floor and officially dying with broken necks and spines.

Now all the teams had to do was finish the fight. At first Gurdeaux pondered whether the gunfire would be heard by the Tan moving outside the door, but his care for secrecy went out the window as he sent another bullet into the head of an elite. If any Tan soldiers had heard the gunfire inside the closet, there'd be an ambush taking place right now, and he'd be flat on the ground with several bullet holes in his body.

"Up the stairs, now!" screamed Gurdeaux. His men nodded and while firing, made their way behind him to the foot of the stairwell. Each step was black brick into an unchartered path.

He stood on his knee at the top of a staircase and shot several times at the men lingering above. The tops of the platforms had walls, colored with crappy beige and light green paint. 

They covered all but small openings in the upper level. Windows filled the upper halves of the dividers. Guessing they were offices, valuable information lay up there and losing these bits and pieces was not an option.

A grenade was tossed from above and landed thirty feet from Gurdeaux's position. He didn't flinch, but his team members, and those of Besa Team, did. They dove and placed their hands on their heads, ducking for protection. Gurdeaux kept shooting. The jolt from the grenade made Gurdeaux flinch, missing the neck of an opponent but with a quick recovery, another bullet was fired, hitting the artery. Blood tossed wildly in the air as the TEG grabbed hi neck and wobbled slowly to the cold platform. Paper now flew in the air. Large pieces of confetti were now scattered in the emptiness of the room, cluttering just a small portion of the visibility.

Grenade fragments did hit Gurdeaux but when struck, they did not penetrate his pants or burn the cloth. The shrapnel did plunge into a fallen TEG lying beside the frozen Green soldiers.

The men stood up and saw their superior shooting. Bursting in a flash, they started to mimic him. A TEG came running at the top of the stair case but as he fired, his body was rattled with slugs, delivering punishing blows to his stance. His lifeless body rolled down the stairs, knocking over some dead elites on the way.

Now with the stairs clear, the teams turned to the upper platform. Several TEGs were still hurdling through the level. Some had ducked for cover but as those surviving men tried to get back up, they too were shot down by Green soldiers. Gurdeaux aimed at one as he reached for his gun and shot him in the back. He laid screaming and reaching with both arms to touch the wound and perhaps make the pain go away. Gurdeaux shot again and hit his mouth. Now the screaming sounded muffled and gagged. Teeth blew away from the jaw and nicked the office walls behind him. To finish him off, Gurdeaux unloaded the rest of his magazine. Most of the 

bullets hit his chest and face while the rest missed and hit the dark beige and light green walls behind him. Sparks emerged as one bullet bounced off a metal pillar, which held up the second level platforms. Gurdeaux reloaded and then went off again on another rant with his gun.

This time however, he was not alone. Dachun and Tyson followed close behind him, shooting at the sides as he took the center. He cleared a path fore them to reach the office on the right side. TEGs just kept coming. It never registered with Gurdeaux until a whole squad of guards came rushing at him that the upper level was enormous, spanning possibly dozens of yards deep. He had noticed from when he first walked inside the closet that there was a lot of empty space under the platforms but the vast space it held never really clicked.

Tyson held his machine gun to his shoulder and didn't bother to look into the sights as his gun spread bullets amongst the foes. Dachun held an assault rifle with both hands and shot at everything. Whether it was moving or just standing still, he shot at it. Elites were known to take cover behind objects, wait for their enemies to waste their ammo and then emerge from the shadows and take them down. But today, no one was taking a chance and not one Green soldier wanted to second guess himself.

One by one the elites fell; sending screams and shouts of pain and agony to Gurdeaux and his men. While all were trying to fight, two scientists for some odd reason escaped from where they had been pinned before, at the bottom of the second stairwell, and started running up the steps. They kept dodging bullets and running until they passed each step and made it to the second level, where Gurdeaux was starting to see machinery and offices.

He looked around and saw that only a few elites remained standing. He knew the other teams would take care of them, firing from underneath and penetrating through the holes, so he turned to look at his team. The sound of gunfire continued but became quieter as he and some 

around him lowered their guns. Only Dachun and Tyson were behind him. Not thinking about where the other three were, he pointed up with his forefinger. "We're going up, follow me!" Gurdeaux yelled. Both nodded and with that done, Gurdeaux turned to face the stairs he had last seen a white coated-man run up.

They weren't far away but for this "complex", the stairs went high above ground. Gurdeaux and the two ran up as quickly as possible, trying to get away from any potential shots from the remaining elites. Gurdeaux saw more and more as the steps past his feet. Huge electric boxes, papers, wires sticking out of each crevice and corner and then blueprints along the walls. This project was serious and mysterious. Whatever lied beneath the white blanket below needed to be known and explained, preferably by the intellectuals.

Metal rails lined the second floor and bullets started to ricochet off them as the three Green soldiers rushed up to capture the level. Gurdeaux turned sharply, firing a few shots, and out of the corner of his eye he saw the two scientists darting in his directions. They were circling the length of the closet, left of the door, desperately sprinting.

Dachun looked down and could see the fighting continue. Bullets shattered wood and lamps and the sounds echoed all over the closet. It began to ring in his ears as the seconds past. Gurdeaux raised his gun to get aim and saw an office with a broken window. Shattered glass lay on the metal floor; a bullet must have hit the pane.

Gurdeaux saw two Tan elite at the open door. One lay on his stomach and blood dripped through the holes in the platform, while the other sat up with a hole in his throat. Tan blood leaked from the wound down his jacket and ran along his boots. The river of plastic blood flowed down to the chaos below. Gurdeaux tried to look inside the office with his sights but could only see tan colored heads, shaking as if nervous for not knowing what was about to happen.

Footsteps on metal begin to grow louder and all three of the Green soldiers raised their guns in the sound's direction. The two scientists stopped and threw their hands up. One immediately lunged away from the soldiers and ran towards his office. The office he was coming towards was in Gurdeaux's view. Every detail of the dark wood desk and red-hand clock could be finely noted.

The scientist made it inside and was reaching for his desk when Gurdeaux fired three shots. He wanted a fourth but a sudden faint click came from his rifle. It was time to reload, but now there was no emergency. Two holes were now visible in the back of the scientist's white lab coat. His back had bullets, burrowed deep into his body and through his lungs. Dawdling and panting for air, the man slid down to the floor, with his right arm reaching for the top of his desk, and died.

Gurdeaux shifted his body back to the other office with the men inside. He inched closer to the office and as he came to the door, he started to see more and more of the men inside. They were hiding behind a desk, grouped together for protection. No weapons were on them as Gurdeaux walked inside but he still didn't want to take a chance. Dachun and Tyson still had their weapons drawn on the remaining scientist and weren't ready to move their barrels away. At last, the sound of gun fire and now the chanting of happiness started in the first level. The fight was over, for now. A burst of "Ra-Ha!" ignited flames of passion inside the men's hearts.

Gurdeaux swung his rifle around and placed his hand on one of the scientists. His shoulders shook and sent vibrations along his white coat. He looked at Gurdeaux and said, "Are you going to kill me?" Gurdeaux stared into his eyes and bluntly said, "No, not unless you want me to." The scientist nodded and tapped on the shoulders of the others. They had kept their eyes 

closed and had trouble opening them to look at their capturers. Now their lives were being placed in the hands of their enemies. Perhaps they would be better treated or worse off.

Dachun and Tyson led in front of the group as Gurdeaux and four scientists came behind. They still shook as Gurdeaux trailed in the back. He watched their every movement and made sure they didn't have a gun or grenade. Most scientists were not people likely to be taken alive. Their secrets were their lives and if they went, so did the secrets. An ironic twist on a profession designed to broaden knowledge and understanding.

When the group of seven reached the bottom of the stairs, Gurdeaux jumped over a few steps and went in front of them. "Dachun, watch them for a minute," Gurdeaux ordered. "Yes sir," replied the corporal. Gurdeaux walked away and went to look around the place. Other men started to join him, but most of the Green soldiers, at least those Gurdeaux could see, just stood and began conversations.

Tyson followed Gurdeaux as he searched through the fight zone. Everywhere rubble or debris lay on the floor and bodies of Tan elites lied on top. One scientist was down on his side but moaning. "He's hurting sir but he'll be fine," said a voice to Gurdeaux's left. He turned and saw a private holding his rifle tight to his chest. "He got hit in the back with a body as it fell from above and got the wind knocked out of him. Just give him a minute."

Gurdeaux nodded at the private and carried on. He saw few blown off body parts and torn off heads. But to be fair, this was the spacious side of the ground level. Behind the boxes was another scene, waiting for Gurdeaux's eyes to view.

A small amount of grenades were used and it was a good thing. If scores of the explosive devices had been used, even through the closet door, the sound would carry to the advancing Tan units in the house. One grenade by itself, amidst commotion of thousands of stampeding soldiers 

in tanks would bring about very little attention, but with numerous grenades came ears catching on to the ruckus. Anyways by now the incoming Tan soldiers had probably found the downed helicopter and had become stationed at their old posts and positions.

As he rummaged through the remains, trying to figure out where he and his men stood, he stopped abruptly and said out loud, "What are the stats?" "Um, we've got about 55 to 60 dead Tan elites, one hurt scientist, and with your four and our four there's eight captured scientists. The rest are being watched near the door. There's also one captured Tan elite and….." The voice behind Gurdeaux trailed off and lowered his voice. "And what about us?" Gurdeaux asked.

A moment of silence came but was broken with a different voice. "We've got three wounded, all critically and two dead." "Who is the dead?" "Stater from Cesa Team and Kline from Aesa, sir," replied the voice. Gurdeaux took a long blink and sighed. He didn't notice it before but off to the back side was a motionless green arm. It stuck out as if reaching for the clouds or waving to the ceiling way up above.

Gurdeaux turned around and looked near the door where he and his squad had moved in. Beside a group of white coats, by the hinge, was Kline. He had been shot in the head and was staring at the ground. His wound wasn't as gruesome as the one Gurdeaux gave to the tan soldier who opened the door, but it still looked the same.

"Would somebody please close that door?" Gurdeaux ordered. Three privates rushed to the door and in unison but became puzzled. There was no handle or lever attached to the door and no hint as to how closing it was done. But when one of the three spotted a keypad to the right, just to the left of the doorframe, and hit the button with the word CLOSE on it, the door began coming closer to them as the button glowed green. It shut loudly and the sound waves stirred into the ceiling above, echoing in all directions. Shutting the door was important for now 

for if the Tan were still moving outside, they could not see what was really going on now and what had recently happened during their brief leave of absence.

Gurdeaux turned around and sighed yet again. "Okay, everyone except Dachun and those guarding a prisoner come here," Gurdeaux said. At once, fifteen Green bodies came and conglomerated in front of him. "Alright, we've got our guys. I'm going to radio into HQ and ask for an evacuation as soon as possible. It may take a while for our escorts to arrive so hold tight for a while. When we leave, everyone goes: alive, captured, wounded and dead. I want Kline and Stater on board with us on the choppers along with these scientists as well. In addition, line up the bodies, of both colors. Let's show these men some respect. Also, if you find any valuable information, bring it along too. Is that understood?" "Sir, yes sir!" they replied. "Okay, as you were," said Gurdeaux. The men dispersed and went into different directions. Some went up to look at the blueprints while others went to the walls to relax and take a breather.

Gurdeaux turned back around and saw that the scientist was sitting up. Walking over to him, he caught a glimpse of the sergeant and began to sweat. As the sergeant kept taking steps, glass and pieces of fragments from the metal rails and plastered walls crumbled under his soles, creating crackling pops that alarmed the scientist. The crackling became louder as Gurdeaux crept closer.

The scientist began panicking and his heart pounded on his chest. Trembling, his hands tried to grab a part of the wood floor. He wasn't able to get a grip and allowed himself to stay on the hard surface as Gurdeaux came closer. In his mind, the scientist didn't know what to say to the approaching man, nor if he should lie, tell the truth, or reach for a gun and commit suicide right then and there. Before he knew it, as he stared into empty space with blank dead eyes, 

Gurdeaux stopped next to his head. Looking up, he could see the calm eyes looking down on him.

Gurdeaux kneeled down and looked at his face. Gurdeaux looked at his head, detailing the missing hair on his scalp, the goatee and the thick black-framed glasses. The scientist stared worriedly into his eyes and started to quiver. Gurdeaux took a quick look at the white cloth and then turned back at the Tan scientist. With his eyes on the scientist, he elongated his arm and pointed to the white sheet, covering the unknown monstrosity behind. In a clear and strong voice, Gurdeaux asked him, "What is that?"


	10. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9: The Project**

"I'm Professor Dominick Crustov. I am in charge of this area," replied the scientist. Sergeant Gurdeaux turned his head to look around the closet and then slouched even closer to him. "I think we're in charge now," Gurdeaux said.

The scientist let his face relax and formed a mad demeanor. Gurdeaux smiled and inside laughed at his smart-guy statement. "Well, what do you want?" Crustov asked. "Like I said before, what is that?" answered Gurdeaux, stretching out his arm to point with his finger at the covered object that took up the center of the closet. Pouting with blown cheeks, Crustov shook his head and looked to the left at his creation.

"It's not meant for simple minds," he said, "for to explain its function would baffle your thinking power." "With all due respect Professor Dominick Crustov, if this thing you are hiding from me is for elite intellectuals, then surely you aren't allowed to gaze upon it either, for you and those stupid individuals you now see lying dead as stone on the hardwood floor allowed us to intrude on your scientific experiments."

Both men stared at one another and for a few hostile seconds, everything seemed to fade away silently in the distance but still remained audible. Machines that still operated could be heard buzzing and beeping, and even conversations to the farthest corners of the closet drizzled into their ears.

"Alright," Crustov said. Placing his hand on his knee, he wheeled himself up and stood in front of Gurdeaux. Only reaching his throat, the professor of unknown intelligence looked up to the grunt he had only a moment ago talked down to. "You want to know? Then I will show you. Gather up your men because I will only talk once."

Crustov marched on over to the white sheet, adjusting his coat over his body. "Everyone, get over here!" Gurdeaux opened his eyes broadly. The man was giving orders to his men, and they were listening. Apparently superior status meant nothing now as the men gathered their rifles and filed closely to the man in the white coat.

Each green and tan face turned and stared at Gurdeaux, walking behind Crustov. Dachun nudged the scientist in front of him to go forward and the rest followed. They didn't look too unhappy now but still, their sweaty palms and foreheads could fool anyone. Tyson, Rigger and every other Green soldier and Tan scientist, along with the Tan elite who stood in the far corner, trekked to the white blanket.

All the squads stayed together, and all the Tan men were brought into a single group, huddled together and rubbing each other's shoulders and elbows. Dachun and others kept their guns drawn at their bodies. No chances were to be taken, even with their backs turned. Gurdeaux stood in the very front so that he could see everything.

Around the sheet were rails, knee high, that enclosed the area. Metal grids made up the floor and above, unnoticed by any other Green soldier, were air ducts, built directly into the ceiling into the ceiling.

Once each living person was standing and waiting with open ears to hear Crustov talk, the professor lifted his arms and touched the drapes. Yanking with a strong tug, the whole sheet came at him, nearly toppling over him and smothering his body. It piled up is doughy roles, brazing his shin.

What was revealed to the men was absolutely puzzling. They couldn't precisely figure out what the thing was. A bomb? A cage? Perhaps even a giant tunnel-boring machine? No one, not even Gurdeaux, could tell instantly what it was. The only men in the room who could answer 

this question were the men with guns to their heads. But when Crustov stood in front of the group, they knew that an explanation was coming.

"Gentlemen, this is a new Tan weapon that was supposed to have been used on you!" he yelled. No one moved as his haunting words sank in. The professors smirked a laugh onto their faces but when the guns poked into their backs, they faces quickly became emotionless.

Crustov moved to the side and elevated his hand to gesture at his toy. "This, my friends, is a bomb… a new kind of bomb. When it is launched, it discharges currents of electricity, overflowing the circuits or batteries of tools and instruments, frying anything that operates on electrical power, disrupting any form of communication, transportation, etc. On top, there are two antennas."

Gurdeaux and the others looked up to view them. Thick pieces of metal stood atop the giant metal cylinder. When Gurdeaux brought his eyes back down to view the entire thing, he saw that it resembled a pill. Its elliptical shape was much like a bomb, but its top and bottom weren't flat. They made rounded-off points and made the bomb look more like a fish with a fat stomach. When Gurdeaux gazed beneath, he saw slanted poles, which kept the bomb from rolling off the platform. It was impressive, no doubt about that, but what made it so special he was about to learn.

"Bombs that ruin electric power have already been built and mastered. In fact, we used them on you comrades in our recently finished campaign in your Sector 15." As Crustov finished, Gurdeaux felt as though he should reach around his back, pull out both his guns and empty both magazines into this jerk. His men and the other Green soldiers started to tighten their grip on the handles on their guns, causing screeching sounds to emerge from the back of the group as their sweaty hands took firm holds of the handles and such.

Crustov may not have heard the hinting sounds, but he quickly changed his choice of words as his speech went on. "However, when after this bomb takes out electric power in a fifty mile radius, it'll impact with the ground, explode and release a deadly nerve agent. The explosion will not cause the demolition of buildings or destroy any trees and things of relation, but when it's breathed in by unsuspecting men and women, their lungs turn rapidly into slush. After a week, the chemical would dissipate and the area would be safe for our troops to go in and clear out the deceased. The city would be ours and the Tan Army would once again show the Green Nation how war is fought."

Gurdeaux maintained his eyes on the metal creation while Crustov gave his propaganda-filled speech. The entire thing was solid with bolted and welded panels, no wires hung out and a giant clip, that was obviously to be used for latching on to a plane, was mounted on the hind part. They designed it for vertical dropping, so it could be dropped with less air resistance and thus add more accuracy, ensuring a destroyed target.

No one spoke as Crustov turned around to see his work and marvel in front of the Green soldiers with his tan brains. But the silence was broken with a raised hand from the back of the group. "Uh, professor?" came a question. Crustov turned to view the hand and sighed. "Yes, what is it?" he answered.

"Well…" began the private, "why blow out electric power?" "The nerve agent takes a full day of exposure for it to become lethal. A simple breath of it is harmless but because it's untraceable and invisible, its potency is diminished. We have been working on a more deadly gas but it's still in its infancy stages. When the bomb goes off, people will see it and hear it, but there will be no way to communicate it to the outside world. And if that happens, anyone sent to investigate the incident will become exposed and, hopefully, die."

"So the idea is to disrupt the city's power, get civilians and soldiers to go inside to solve the problem, thus leading to more fatalities. How lethal is this nerve agent?" asked Gurdeaux. Crustov adjusted his glasses and sighed. "If I took a pen and dipped the tip into a glass of the nerve agent, which we call K109, and then took the pen and dabbed your cheek… you'd be dead in ten hours. That is of course unless I gave you the cure, but I doubt that would ever happen."

Crustov smiled maniacally as the green faces became filled with hatred. The professor had overstepped his boundaries and was now going to pay the price. Gurdeaux walked up beside him and tapped his shoulder. Surprised, Crustov looked over and saw Gurdeaux's knuckles slam into his face. The professor's glasses flew out into the open and his body wobbled with pain.

Crustov's eyes started to blink fast and soon they closed. As his body hit the cement ground, his glasses landed but next to Rigger's foot. He glanced down and raised his leg. A sudden stomp with his boot broke the lenses and bent the frame, rendering the glasses useless. He looked up, saw Gurdeaux watching him, and smiled. The sergeant did the same as he checked out the unconscious scientist lying on his stomach.

Gurdeaux glanced at his men and the Tan men and knew that their time in the closet was about to come to an end. "Gentlemen, I am going to radio in to HQ to get our evacuation underway. Make sure these scientists and that elite don't move. Put them over by the door and keep their mouths shut. Place some in charge of them and continue making this place look presentable. Dachun, I need you for a second. Now, as you were."

Dachun took his gun away from the scientist's neck and walked over to the Gurdeaux. The other Green soldiers marched to the door, bringing their new prisoners with them. They pushed and flung items at them, mostly empty metal jackets from the ground. In all their minds, the scientists weren't bad people, but for the time being, they were going to be the entertainment.

Dachun handed made his way to the sergeant, stepping over burned and torn debris, and stood. "What is it sir?" "Dachun," Gurdeaux began, "I need you to look around upstairs with some of the others. If you find any blueprints, drawings, etchings, chemical formulas… anything like that, pick it up and stuff it into your pocket.

Dachun nodded and started walking to the stairs. As he reached the sixth step, he yelled out to Tyson and Riggers and Eckers to come over to him. But before continuing up to the second level, Dachun stopped.

"Sir is our pick up going to be secure or is there something about to happen?" he asked. "Think of it this way," Gurdeaux replied, "there's approximately 300,000 Tan soldiers and 4,000 tanks in this building who don't know what is happening in their own first-level closet. However, the only way, at least to my knowledge, that our choppers are going to get inside this place is through a window, causing noise and disruption which will surely alert the Tan. I have no idea how many choppers are getting us out, and U surely don't know how many men are going to be involved in our evacuation, but there won't be enough to secure our butts as dozens of turrets, anti-aircraft guns and many machine guns, not to mention the bazookas, will be fired at us. So I think it's safe to say that we're in a stage between fighting and are about to go through another fight, a great fight if I am allowed to guess and say so."

Dachun stared at Gurdeaux and neither one moved or flinched, or even blinked. Dachun nodded and heaved air out from his lungs. "Good. I've always wanted to go down against the odds," he uttered. "Dying in a fight where you're outnumbered is a privilege Corporal Dachun. Many wish for it to happen to them. It makes their reasons for fighting only stronger and guarantees them glory, which few ever attain," stated Gurdeaux. Both men smiled but Gurdeaux ended the happiness when his face looked down at his radio. Dachun walked up and away, happy 

and still smiling. Gurdeaux nodded to himself and understood why he was now lucky to be with such a man. This was truly a soldier and one not to be forgotten.

Gurdeaux immediately got the right channel and spoke into the radio with a soft voice. "HQ this is Gurdeaux. Do you copy?" Squeals emerged but faded when a familiar voice came through. "Sergeant Gurdeaux, this is Colonel Oaken. How are things?" "Everything is fine sir. We are secure in the closet and have obtained the scientists and an elite soldier." "Well good job soldiers. This success will definitely ensure you a higher rank once you've safely returned home."

Gurdeaux paused to repeat in his mind Oaken's words. He though about what Oaken just said and began to wonder what being a Major would entitle. Would it mean more men? Would it mean more campaigns and missions? But now was not the time to ponder such notions.

"Sir we've lost two and three are in critical condition. We need that extraction force to come now or we're going to have more body bags to carry onboard those choppers." "How many scientists do you have?" Oaken asked. "We have eight but nine if you count the Tan elite who surrendered."

Oaken didn't speak for a moment. Gurdeaux waited as the static flushed into his ears. "So with you, that's twenty-eight alive and two dead to carry. With six to a chopper, we're going to need five choppers, plus three escorts per… that's twenty choppers in total to bring you and your men home safely." "Is this a problem?" Gurdeaux told Oaken as his eyes squinted with confusion.

"No, I just need to know what to tell Malist before our boys begin their assault on Sector 8. They're causing the diversion as my men and I swing through from the window at the front of the house and pick you up. The diversion is going to come through the backyard and then on into 

the family room, where the fireplace is. That way, if there's already a window blown out or the door open, the choppers with you and the boys can get out and return here."

"Sir, I didn't know you were coming along?" "Well when you're a colonel you never know what to expect and Malist ensured me that this would solidify a new rank for me. I'd see less daylight but I'd finally get my voice heard in the operations room. I might be able to save a few more lives with my strategies."

"How are things in Sector 2 colonel?" "Well…. Our sector was briefly overrun with those Tan jerks, but all the chaos died down when some unexpected help came from Sector 4 and saved our behinds. They took 4,600 of ours, but we took at least 18,000 of theirs, and a bunch of tanks and aircraft."

"I thought the battle was humongous?" said Gurdeaux jokingly. His tone made the colonel sure that he wasn't serious. "Oh it was Gurdeaux. Believe me it was, but only because their Tan tanks were firing at our positions. We fell back to the backyard fences and the backdoor of the house but managed to keep the high ground on the patio where we let our bullets rain down on them. Our air cavalry pounced on theirs. It was almost like they fell into our hands. I guess they didn't remember our air superiority. The men from Sector 4 came in through the fence, broke their lines with an air raid and sent them back. Unfortunately for you, they're now surrounding the closet and everything inside the house."

"So when will the assault commence?" Gurdeaux asked. He was starting to feel more like a private than a sergeant with his now constant questioning. "Wait thirty minutes and when you hear bullets going off and explosions, come out of the closet. Understood?" "Yes sir." "Over and out."

The radio became dead and Gurdeaux stared at the wood below him. Off in the distance some of his men were sitting on the ground, trying to keep the mood alive and positive. While Gurdeaux talked with Oaken, the bodies of Stater and Kline were placed in black body bags that someone brought with them, or found somewhere in the closet. They were next to the door wall and lay motionless but the light that the glossy black plastic clung onto made it seem that with each step the sergeant took that the contents inside were moving. Gurdeaux decided to pay his last respects to the brave man who fought alongside him.

With each step Gurdeaux came closer to the fallen comrades and old speeches and statements he gave to those who died in combat with him began rising from the dark depths of his mind. Synonyms for every word popped up and cliché sentences emerged as well. But Gurdeaux remembered that, for whatever reason, each soldier had his own word. Whether he was courageous or a coward, smart or stupid, liked or hated, he was a soldier and deserved the utmost respect from his leader.

Gurdeaux reached the bag closest to the door and unzipped it. It was Stater, but instead of just closing the bag, he spoke to him. He first kneeled at his chest and looked at his closed, lifeless eyes. It was tradition for the dead to have their eyes closed; it could really spook people to see a dead person in a casket looking back at them.

He then set his hand on his heart, covering his stitched nametag and started to speak. "Your memory will last. You gave your life for your beliefs and nothing will ever make that futile or insignificant. You died a soldier." His face had become pale green and his mouth stayed partially open as the dried blood covered his face. Decaying was always brought hastily upon a fallen person. By the time the choppers came to pick him up, Stater would have attracted flies 

and in the New World, flies were the last thing a soldier wanted sucking and munching on his body. They were giant, ravenous beasts with no heart for the common dead.

The dark green streaks that slid down his face were lines of drizzles blood from a chest wound he had sustained. Thought not fully visible, Stater's jacket was very dark green in the middle. Blood must have come from there and leaked down to his neck and lips as his body lied on the wood floor.

Gurdeaux zipped the bag up and coughed. The smell, although minuscule, was still rancid and could make anyone surrender to fainting. Stench odors always came from bodies, even managing to penetrate the thick lining of the bag they were in.

Marching over to the other bag, Gurdeaux took his time and eyed it. He locked onto it and never blinked until his body went down on his knees, just like he did for Stater. He unzipped and saw his squad member, with brain matter piled up near his left ear and a small hole in the middle of his forehead. A single dark streak of green blood had drizzled and formed a small puddle in the bag.

"Kline, I wish you hadn't died," Gurdeaux began. "I wish you hadn't taken that bullet in the head, but you went down with honor. You died fighting. Your hands were still clinched to your gun when I saw you at the door and I bet it was hard to pull it off of you when they stuck you in this bag. I won't forget you because missions like these stick in my mind like a tattoo on skin. You died a soldier. And when your family is notified and when you're buried, everyone will know you died a man, with bravery in your bones. There will be a star on your tomb, a nice solid, thick green star. I can only hope you were right about The One, and that he or she or it has embraced you as the man you were."

Now with his team member lying motionless to his legs, Gurdeaux could only imagine the heart-torn mother, crying for her lost son, and the father standing next to his wife with frozen legs. Him holding his wife's shoulders, clinching the remaining remnants of her love for her child in his palms, would be a sad sight to see.

On Kline's tombstone, along with Stater's, would be a scored star with a giant G in the middle, signifying their military service. Although not synonymous with uniforms, other than those worn by high ranking personnel, the star was a regular symbol of the Green military, of all four sections, as was the gold "G", and a dove with a single wing.

Gurdeaux zipped up the bag and stood up. At the other side of the room, the men were watching him and said nothing. They had gathered most of the TEG bodies and had lined them up, some in body bags, along side one another below the platforms and in front of the boxes. Shattered pieces of wood and glass littered the floor around their limbs, and most likely underneath their bodies.

Gurdeaux turned to his left and walked back to Crustov to see if he was awake. The soldiers on the other side gently rotated their bodies, looked at one another, and slowly returned to their discussions.


	11. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10: Chaos**

Oaken walked past several rows of soldiers who lined the path to the helipad. They held their weapons closely and were awaiting his order.

"Gentlemen, let's go!" shouted Oaken. "Ra-Ha, Ra-Ha, Ra-Ha!" yelled the men. All rushed to the helicopters behind the colonel and huddled close to one another. There would be many twenty choppers in total traveling to Sector 8, on top of the already 10,000 or so Green troops making their way to the back of the house.

Men filed quickly into the helis, gathering in groups of four to ten. The escort choppers were filled to their limit but the evac helis were left empty, with the exception of the pilots.

Oaken had the luxury of traveling with a team of soldiers, adding more protection to his life. Each helicopter had a machine gun mounted on the left side but only the escorts had missiles. It was the only way to guarantee that the men with Gurdeaux had a chance of coming back to base.

At the edge of the helipad were Malist and Toole, standing with their arms behind their backs. They were watching as Oaken gave his orders to the pilot. When he had said his words, Oaken signaled for the two men to come over.

"We should be there in no more than three minutes. We'll return in no more than ten," said Oaken. The blades above weren't making his sentences easier to hear but still Toole and Malist understood every word.

Malist nodded. "I know. Good luck soldier," he said. Oaken smiled and tapped the roof of the belly of the chopper. As Malist and Toole walked back to their prior positions on the helipad, Oaken's escort took off and then the rest followed. For a brief moment, the sky was 

cluttered with green birds, blanketing the visible surface of the cloudless sky. The sun was shining well and giving off too much heat.

As Oaken's chopper floated several feet of the ground, Malist examined it and nodded. "It'll be okay Toole. That I know." The general turned to the colonel and winked. Malist made a slow turn around and started walking back to his office.

"And what if you're wrong?" asked Toole, following closely behind the general. "Why do you always doubt my actions? In a matter of minutes we're going to have one less problem to worry about. Gurdeaux will return safely and nothing more about this matter will be said."

"I'm sorry sir but if this got out, you know we'd be hanged or executed by a firing squad." "I know colonel, believe me I know," said Malist. His voice wasn't calm and elevated with each spoken word.

"I have participated in firing squads. I know what it's like to watch men get blindfolded and stand awaiting their fate as a superior whispers the order for the ten men to shoot their single sot rifles. Don't remind me on things I already understand."

"Sorry sir, it won't happen again," said Toole. Malist brought his hands from behind his back and marched to his office. Toole looked back at the sky to see that his colonel and the rest had vanished, and would do so once more in a matter of minutes, but permanently.

"How long until we reach the house?" Oaken asked the pilot. "About, two minutes sir. We're taking the long route so we don't get spotted," replied the pilot. The roaring blades of his and the adjacent EC13 helicopters made his answer difficult to hear but Oaken got the information. He let go of the pilot's and copilot's seats and turned around. The flying chopper made him wobble; causing a disruption in his focus, but sitting in front of his eyes was his team. Seven men ready to extract and protect Gurdeaux and the remaining survivors.

"Okay men, here's the situation. Our boys are inside the closet located at the front of the house. We have to get them and bring them out of there and back to base. There is a mobilization of men from Sector 2 located on the outskirts of the backyard of Sector 8 and they are preparing an assault at the backdoor of the house, causing a distraction. They have some air support but it's mostly all tanks and troops. It's probably already started, which allows us to blow through the front side windows and get to the closet quicker. We will land next to the dining room table, pick them up, and fly through the window we are about to penetrate, or at worst the backside window above the backdoor. Only our chopper, a few of the escorts and the evac helis have been given permission to land. Once their men jump off they will fall in to the closet, which is we will head as well. If all the choppers landed we would have a huge mess and would all be taken out. That's why we got to get in and out before our vulnerability is maximized. Once we hit the ground I want you to move with me and watch your backs. We will not put any of Gurdeaux's men, whether Green or Tan, on our chopper. We're there for protection. Those scientists are going with the evac choppers. Are there any questions?"

As Oaken finished his spiel the men nodded without doubts or inquisitive insight into the colonel's plan. "We are GREEN!" yelled the colonel. At once, the squad and the pilots at the head of the bird shouts, "Ra-Ha, Ra-Ha, Ra-Ha!" Now they were fired up and ready to kill anyone with Tan skin.

"One minute sir," said the copilot. Oaken reached down on the floor to pick up a hand gun. He placed it in his belt and then sat down behind the pilot's seat. There were no seat belts in this chopper. This model was designed for landing and getting people off, not to extract or carry things back and forth, per say.

Oaken looked out the side to view the scenery flying by him and the others. He began to wonder if he'd be able to see the same thing on his way back to the base. The luxuries in life were sometimes the things he always neglected or overlooked. Nature, life, love and other crap that men looked down on were sometimes the items held most dear to others, as they should be to virtually all men. Oaken was a pacifist and a nature-loving man, but he had never appreciated the outdoors or untamed life until after enlisting into the military.

His view became obstructed though when a batch of armor-plated choppers with guns, large enough to take out twenty men in a single shot, clogged the scenery with their long bodies. There were three flying in close proximity to each other, and Oaken guessed that there were two on the other side of the chopper as well. Although he couldn't see the others, the other fourteen escorts were behind him, dragging along in standard pyramid formation.

"Sir," started the pilot, "we're now moments away from the front door. What's the plan: bullets or missiles? You only said to clear the path." Oaken turned and with his eyes at the furthest corner of his socket, he said, "Use your missiles to take out the window, but only when we are in very close range." The pilot turned back but kept his focus on the sight in front of the chopper. "Sir, we're about twenty seconds away," said the copilot.

Oaken widened his eyes and stood up. Lowering his belt to a more comfortable setting, he looked at his men. "Well then, fire away," he said out loud. Both pilots nodded at each other and grabbed a firm hold on their throttles. With a quick push of his thumb, the copilot launched a missile straight ahead and hit his target.

The impact rattled the window and made a huge hole big enough for three or four choppers, side by side, to fly in. But the window needed to be knocked down and demolished, so he fired again. This time however, he held down on the little red button, launching another seven 

missiles. They went straight but veered off in horizontal directions, staying at the same level as the chopper.

The glass exploded toward them and fragments from the first impact hurled their way, chipping off their windshield and tapping on the rotating metal blades. Sounds of immense force blocked away the whirling blades above Oaken's head. The small pieces of wood, that which had linked the square cuts of glass to form the giant window, fell and took more glass of the frame.

There were no Tan anti-aircraft guns mounted on the roof above, nor ground troops stationed at the foot of the door or alongside the driveway. The entire enemy force was inside, now alert of what was being staged at their expense. "We're going in gentlemen!" shouted Oaken. "Remember, be smart and hang on!" The men looked at him and held on to the sides and the outer walls of the chopper. They didn't smile but looked fierce and had fire burning in their eyes. Now was the time to get ready to fight. Oaken reached up and pressed his palm on the ceiling. Cold metal began condensing his sweat and heated hand. His right hand now clung to the handle on his gun. Though equipped with small cartridges, his handgun was accurate for hundreds of yards and fired very damaging bullets.

As Oaken's chopper rode in through the broken window, gun fire became heard and small explosions now started to crawl in through the men's ears. Pieces of glass lay on top of a trunk that stood right below the center of the window frame, in between two chairs and over a rug. As his chopper passed a long sofa, Oaken could see no Tan outposts in the area, though to be fair he was only looking at the left side of the room, across the floor from Gurdeaux's closet.

The house may have been theirs, but the front was their weak spot, and the Green Army was going to exploit it at any cost. Faint and indescribable as to how harsh they were, the explosions did send chills down the men's backs as the choppers came closer to the closet. The 

battle on the other side of the house was now raging on as well and no one knew what was going on in that section of the house.

From Oaken's view, the extraction helicopters faded away, only slightly, and sank lower. Tilted downward, they looked as though they were trying to crash into the ground but narrowly dodged over a couch that stood in the way of a swift swoop of the helis.

Suddenly, bursts of rattling explosions shook his chopper as the metal bird began to tilt back. The Tan now knew that they were inside. Missiles streaked past Oaken's sight as the escorts behind fired at the dining room table. Oaken could only feel the heat of the fireballs as they incinerated whatever stood or lived on the table, but Oaken could picture LEGO pieces and Tan bodies being on fire and flying in any direction. Oaken held on as his feet now started to tremble.

He looked up and saw the long walls, stretching for hundreds of yards, with different arrangements of color and texture. The table was a fortress in itself.

His knees shook more and more as his chopper descended lower, hovering above the hardwood floor. Even his men were beginning to shake back and forth while they sat silent, waiting for the command to jump off. The explosions were getting louder and more violent as white smoke lines emerged in the air around the colonel. His pilots were not able to fire any more missiles for they were all used on the window. But even if they did have some to spare, they still had to focus on finding a safe landing zone.

The chopper started to rattle like a frightened bird in its cage but when Oaken finally saw the hardwood floor only a few feet below him, he knew he had made it.

"Get off, let's go!" Oaken yelled to his men. He flung the pistol from his body, hinting the men to go that direction, and jumped off going over the several imaginary steps and landing 

hard on the floor. It had been a long time since he had performed such a mission, but it was also good to keep getting the same taste of something like this.

In front of him was the table. At the legs were dead Tan soldiers and LEGO pieces. "We have to take out any threats before we can move, or we'll get shot in the back!" Oaken yelled.

The bodies and pieces were scattered all over and some had landed on the seats of the chairs, towering over the minute choppers. One Tan soldier pushed himself up from his chest and tried to move his body off the floor. He had trouble moving and the colonel could see that everything below the knee had broken off; probably from the fall he had just gone through and miraculously lived. Blood spewed from the injury and a small puddle began to form. Some of the Tan blood leaked onto the rug and made a deep stain. Oaken saw this and raised his pistol. By now, the men had filed into a half-circle around him and eyed his marksmanship.

With one shot, which took him a second to aim, Oaken blew off the poor soldier's head and made his body collapse back to its previous position. The colonel turned around and saw the closet door. "Alright, let's get these men to the birds!" he shouted. The gunfire was getting too loud for normal voice levels and Oaken had to scream it into the faces of the squad.

At the moment Oaken finished shouting his sentence, bullets came down and hit two of his men. They barely missed his neck but struck the two men in their bellies. One collapsed immediately and held onto his stomach, while the other dropped his gun and wobbled down to his knees. Bullets rained down and hit each part of the chopper behind the squad.

All the others including Oaken turned around quickly and ran away from the scene. The remaining five team members and colonel ran around the sides of the chopper, passing the nervous pilots inside, or dove through the open belly and emerged out the other side.

The two injured men faced the table from where the shots most likely came from and saw Tan helmets atop moving erratically and into vantage points. The lieutenant who now sat on his butt, trying to not die, moved swiftly and stood up, staggering to his feet. He managed to pull himself back into the chopper by hopping over the landing foot of the heli and settled on his hands that covered his wound.

Green blood drizzled down his hand and covered his pant legs, but his jacket now started to weigh him down. It was soaked and there was no medical kit on board. He rolled on the floor of the bird and got to the other side. The pilots had already gone down on the floor for protection as the blades continued to whirl. The choppers could shut down, but it would have to immediately be turned on again for it would take too long to start the blades up again for extraction.

Glancing at the wounded man, the pilot slammed his fist on the dashboard. He wanted to help but couldn't risk being caught off guard. There was a man bleeding to death behind him but he also had to protect his life, his copilot's life and the chopper itself.

The lieutenant cried out in pain as he witnessed the others running with Oaken to the closet. "MOVE!" the colonel yelled, as his legs took bigger strides with his remaining five men.

Lay on his stomach, the lieutenant swung his right side over with his remaining strength and nestled on his back, hoping he wouldn't die and wishing the pain would stop. He checked on his wound and saw that the blood had stopped pouring out and now only drops emerged. But still, to his left lay the other lieutenant who was now crawling to the chopper. Bullets started whizzing past his head, hitting and bouncing off the hard wood floor only inches from his body. Dust spat up and sparks came and went as the chopper got hit.

Tan troops kept trying to shoot at the slowly moving target but just kept missing. He must have been at least eight hundred feet away from the top of the table, making any shot hard.

The helpless soldier now stretched out his arm and reached for the landing bar on the bottom of the helicopter. He lunged at it but failed once, then twice, and after the third time, turned on his back in disappointment. The bullets from the Tan guns started ricocheting off the sides and windows of the chopper, making interesting noises and dents. The lieutenant on board saw his comrade on the ground and decided to take action.

To his right and in reaching distance lay the heli's machine gun, with a loaded chain of bullets. He took a firm hold of the frame loaded to the base of the floor and switched over onto his stomach. Swiveling his body, he positioned himself to view the table. He didn't notice before but underneath the table near the far wall were Tan forces. Tanks and troops were now making their way towards the chopper and all the others that had landed. Oaken must not have seen them for they emerged from the back corner, off in the distance, surrounded by the legs of the finely made table chairs.

The lieutenant used his elbows to push himself up and with both hands, grabbed the machine gun and pulled himself up. He pressed the gun against his shoulder, aimed and began firing at the top of the table. Each shot he fired hit the table or enemy soldier and soon, LEGO pieces started to fall and impact the wood floor.

With every bullet he held on tighter to his weapon, not letting loose for one split second as the Tan troops returned fire. They came closer to the wall that stood on the ledge of the table, trying to kill the man who was now trying to kill them. Some stuck their heads out to far over the LEGO bricks and got in the sights of the lieutenant. They learned their lesson however, when a bullet came either through their head or neck.

When the Green lieutenant hit one, the Tan soldier's head flopped backward and his body became gelatin, wiggling lifelessly and having no control. His hands went into the air and when his head finally stopped moving, his body landed over the wall and flung over. He flew down to the chair, hitting its arm and breaking into two pieces. His upper body went off the arm and hit the chair's cushion while his lower body tumbled as it came closer to the floor. The Tan legs struck the wood and shattered into smaller pieces. Some came at the chopper and hit the sides, making softer noises than the bullets before. Drops of blood and parts of the man's intestines flew into the blades of the heli and were cut up into small particles.

The firing didn't stop though. Even when two, three and then four Tan soldiers died fighting, they still shot at the lieutenant, and even the other choppers. Though the lieutenant didn't have the time to see it, the escorts were circling the table and some had also moved into the kitchen, doing their best to prevent more Tan forces from coming into the dining room.

He couldn't see what was going on behind him but the Green soldier guessed that the other teams were getting out and trying to make it to the closet. He kept shooting at the Tan and kept hitting some. After a few more Tan forces fell, they retreated and vanished into the insides of the top of the table. Just at the same time, the lieutenant fired his last shot. The string of bullets ha disappeared and there was no energy left in the lieutenant to reload.

He took a deep breath. Blood, stringy and dark green blood, whisked over his lips and onto his chin. He breathed in again and looked down at the ground. His buddy lay still and on his shoulder and thigh. Arms over his stomach and green blood spilled all around his body. The lieutenant figured the worst and accepted his friend's demise.

Now only explosions could be heard off in the distance and glass breaking as well. The pilots sat back up and looked to see the wounded lieutenant. "We need to get out of here!" the 

pilot said. The soldier nodded and looked back to see the movement of the Tan forces under the table. They had now reached the rug and all the tanks could be seen. A fine line had developed and several rows or troops, guarded by armored vehicles, now stood in front of the lieutenant and the pilots.

They watched and hoped maybe someone would shoot at them first and cause them to retreat back into their old territory, but nothing happened. One tank raised his cannon and turned it to face the chopper. Many of the Tan troops next to the tanks dropped their guns and covered their ears. The lieutenant saw the blackness in the cannons' hole and waited for the imminent death to occur.

A single shot came at him and the shell rotated in the air, gaining speed as it burst from its former home. It didn't miss the chopper or hit the tail. Right where the pilots sat it impacted and sent the two pilots flying out the right cockpit door and windshield. The lieutenant inside flew back, tumbling to the left. His body knocked the walls of the heli's belly. With enough force to break apart the chopper's engine, his arms came off, allowing his torso to rotate violently. The rest of body, the head and legs continued to fly. He body became decapitated when his he hit his head on a handle, welded to the roof of the chopper. His skull cracked open and his head burst off from his neck as the fireball took over his legs and arms, partially melting them in an instant.

The one who remained on the ground went in the opposite direction of the three other men inside and came toward the tank. He didn't come close or even near the carpet, but his flaming and flailing body twisted in midair and went high above the wood floor. When he came crashing down, his legs broke off, along with his hand and the remaining parts rolled to a stop. Now the only question that was left was simple: would the same thing happen to the other choppers?

Inside Gurdeaux was having his men scramble with their prisoners, putting them in order. "Alright men they're here. But I am not opening this door until I hear a knock." A large explosion went off, shaking the hardwood floor.

"When this door opens, you will run to one of the helicopters on the ground. They'll be empty, this I know for sure. Each heli will hold six men so here's how we will designate the groups. Who are the leaders of Besa and Cesa Teams?" "We are sir," said Jentiko and Gutierez.

"Okay you," began Gurdeaux, pointing to Jentiko, "I want you to take four scientists and the TEG with you on board. Any chopper will do. And you will also take four scientists but with you I want one of your team members coming along. I will go with my men to a single chopper. That makes three filled. What are your names?" asked Gurdeaux, nudging his head in the direction of Jentiko. "I'm Jentiko… and I'm Gutierez."

"Gutierez and Jentiko, the men you have left over I want huddled into a single chopper. Penon of Desa Team and his will take the remaining. Is everything clear?" "SIR YES SIR!!" yelled the men in the closet. The scientists looked at the men, examining the veins in their necks bulge with furious blood.

"When we get out, move quickly." Another shake of the closet thrust dirt and dust off the sides. The interior walls were rumbling as the fight outside raged on. "There will be no time to for stopping or stalling, for then you will die. All I ask is that you keep moving. Testing your enemy when the odds are not in your favor is a gamble not worth taking. And I will die here today just so you can learn that lesson!"

The men stared into the rage of their superior. His teeth were showing, his eyes were jumping and inside they could see his heart pounding with adrenaline. The time had come to see if anyone's destiny was to be told today.

Oaken rushed to the closet door, neglecting to look at the hallway to the kitchen from which Gurdeaux had run through about an hour before. He also didn't bother to look back at the fallen men behind him which he assumed had died. His men ran with him, protecting his sides with their assault rifles. The group had landed in between the table and the door and there was no time to relax and squabble. They had to make it to the closet and back quickly. The men who trailed behind their leader started to get shot at by the Tan forces on top of the table. Bullets chased their every step as their bodies rushed to the Green soldiers trapped inside.

Dust and parts of the wooden floor began to break and go up at the chests of the men. The impact of the bullets shot them straight out of their place and made them airborne particles. Some bits of dust and dirt kicked up into their eyes, blurring their vision and making them zigzag as they continued their race away from danger.

To their right came more soldiers, equipped with rocket launchers and machine guns. They too were under attack and beginning to feel the heat of war. A few unlucky men were shot in the back and fell down, launching their guns away from their bodies and towards the closet door. Blades from the helicopters still went around and around, sending noise to cover up the firing sounds from the Tan guns.

In all there were about ten choppers still on the ground. Above but in full sight were the remaining helis, circling the table, unleashing a wrath of missiles and ammo from the turrets underneath. Guard posts and walls disintegrated as the shells pounded the weak LEGO defenses.

When Oaken and his men finally reached the doorframe below the handle, they looked back and saw their little birdie sitting still with a man on his stomach inside. It could have been a pilot or one of the wounded men, but either way, he was laying down covering fire and providing protection to Oaken's men and the other squads.

"Shoot back! Return fire!" Oaken ordered to his squad. The five men turned, faced the table and went on their knees to get better shots. Aiming through their sights, they started firing back at the table, hitting the LEGO bricks which shielded the Tan forces from them.

Oaken looked to his left as his back lay against the white door frame. He could see more men lying on the floor and then coming at him, and then falling once and not getting up. Near the window which seemed only a few hundred yards away but felt like miles, little tan figures emerged form the shadows and started to eye him and the others. When a tank popped out as well, Oaken opened his eyes wide enough to tear his green plastic skin. He knew that the only way to get out alive now was to hurry.

He banged on the door with his left fist, hoping a quick answer from inside would come. When the door opened slightly, he saw a green face peer at him. The door then opened wider, allowing the colonel to see more into the closet. A bullet then hit the frame, missing his head and ricocheted to the floor and then out of sight.

The Green soldier ducked and then opened the door even wider. Oaken now saw Gurdeaux looking at him with both guns in his hands. Oaken stood up and with his gun pointed to the action behind him said, "We got to go now!" "I know!" replied Gurdeaux. As Oaken 

turned around to survey the damage, Gurdeaux tapped his back with a rifle. Holding a gun by its handle in front of Oaken Gurdeaux spoke, "You'll need this." Oaken accepted Gurdeaux's offer, tossing away his pistol. Gurdeaux then pulled out two magazines and tossed them into Oaken's hands. With that done, Gurdeaux and the others ran at the door with the sergeant in front, Dachun second, the scientists and then the rest. Trailing behind was Rigger and a man from Besa Team.

When Gurdeaux and Oaken came out side, away from the closet door they looked at the helicopter the colonel had ridden in on. Behind and to its left were several more, with pilots whipping their heads from side to side, watching bullets stream past their faces.

"We're going to put you and the others on the ones across from us!" yelled the colonel. The explosions were beginning to deafen Oaken, and Gurdeaux's ears were starting to take a beating. Overhead a Green helicopter whistled by, firing a rocket past the closet door and into the abyss back at in the kitchen.

"My men and I are going back to that one. You and your men better run fast!" he said. Gurdeaux nodded, but before he could take a second look at the unfolding action, Oaken's chopper exploded, sending blades and metal pieces in every direction. The explosion caught everyone by surprise and made almost all of Gurdeaux's and Oaken's men panic.

The cockpit went to the right, the tail to the left, and body of the man inside, who so gracefully operated the machine gun, came hurdling at Gurdeaux and Oaken. He flew high and flung around sideways. His head came off and arms disappeared into the flames. Before anything hit the ground, the entire chopper no longer was recognizable. No piece big enough to be told apart from a car part or toaster. Things were now going in the wrong direction for the men in the mission.

Gurdeaux and Oaken watched the entire metal body fly apart and up, and then crash down sending more bursts of fire out in each direction. It landed on its side, closer to the closet than before. Behind the wreckage they saw Tan bodies moving and Tan tanks approaching their position.

"Fire at will!" Oaken yelled. At once, everyone in each team emptied their clips at the table's legs, trying to kill all those who stood under it. Gurdeaux completely unloaded one full magazine but when he reloaded a second, he turned and saw more Tan soldiers coming from the window side. He could see their heads and arms, moving behind the choppers that had landed to the left of the bunch. They were vague but self evident.

He started to run. Gurdeaux ran past the group and went onto his left knee. Without looking into his sights he saw hands gesturing movement signals but no vehicles. They were coming out, and going strong. It was just a ground infantry platoon, who was about to die.

His fingers gently tapped and held down on the trigger. Bullets fired simultaneously, sparking out of the gun and into the Tan soldiers. Gurdeaux held the rifles above both of his hips. BANG BANG BANG… BANG…BANG BANG BANG! They kept coming out and chasing after the cornered men. With their backs against the door Gurdeaux felt pinned, awaiting a slaughter.

But his relentless effort brightened the moment. As the seconds pressed on the Tan soldiers dropped to the ground. Their bodies collapsed with wounds in the limbs or with holes in their chests and necks. Flopping was the only action their lifeless entities could do. Those fortunate enough to scurry before being encountered with Gurdeaux's bullets went behind the wall and waited for everything to finish. Gurdeaux soon ran out of bullets and let the clip fall out of the gun.

More troops emerged from the corner and peered around to see if it was safe to come out. One let his head wrap around the side and his eyes looked all around, mainly at Gurdeaux's body sitting on his knee. The troop stuck his head out further but his head then partially blew off. A bullet got him in the forehead, sending brain matter to the men who stood behind him. The blood gushed on the wall, creating curves lines with each surge of new tan blood. He collapsed but more bullets then came at him, hitting his sides and head. Gurdeaux looked behind to see his squad firing at the wall. When the bullets stopped, the sergeant got up.

"Let's go! You all come with me!" Gurdeaux ordered. He took a few steps backwards and to the right, aiming his footing towards the helicopters on his left. He raced for the belly of the metal bird closest to him. Running across his view were four men in white coats and two Green soldiers, firing at the table. Out of the corner of Gurdeaux's right eye he could see Penon's chopper lifting off. The team leader was letting his right leg hang out as sparks flew inside his heli's belly. The men were taking firing, but it was nothing compared to what Gurdeaux was experiencing.

Finally another group of scientists ran by, with Gutierez leading the pack. He reached the chopper. It was hovering slightly above ground, begging for the rest of the bunch to hop on. In the middle of the group was the TEG and he dove into the heli as though he were on fire. One scientist then jumped in, then the second and then the third. But the fourth, the straggler of the party took a hit to the neck and plunged into the hardwood floor. His left hand grabbed the severed artery, while his other fingers clawed into the wood. His nails came off as his body slipped from under him. The blood from his neck made things too slippery for his elbow, and he dropped. Though he never came back up, blood kept gushing from his wound.

Penon's chopper, then Gutierez' and finally Jentiko's took off. This all happened as Gurdeaux ran faster to his getaway. Behind his destined aircraft arose another chopper. This had to be the remaining six men, grouped together from Besa and Cesa Team. It rose several yards and turned. As it faced the window, an anti-aircraft round nicked the back propeller. Smoke climbed into the noisy air but the chopper did not go down. Along with the four others, it made it to the window. Gurdeaux didn't know for sure but from the looks of it, the exit was as swift and painless as the entrance.

Another explosion came out into the already loud clustered atmosphere. A heli was hit, probably with a mortar and ascended beautifully. Parts flew all around but for Gurdeaux it was an amazing sight.

Gurdeaux could now see his ride. No one was inside except for two pilots who urged them to come in with waving hands and shaking bodies, full of nervousness. Suddenly a fiery heli came darting at the floor. It was to the right, almost heading directly for Oaken's dead heli. The tail came off, along with several blades before the cockpit officially touched down. The glass from the windshield broke into the littlest of fragments. Parts scurried everywhere and fire loped through the emptiness of the room, high above the floor. Flaming wreckage started to rain down, narrowly catching the legs of Eckers and Dachun.

But Gurdeaux and the others had finally made it. The chopper was slanted, letting the cockpit face the table and fortress. Aesa Team hurled into the copter. As they did another chopper landed, just in front of the sergeant's. Gurdeaux couldn't get a good look but there were no others left on the ground. The escorts were either gone fighting or downed. There was still definitely some still fighting, but most likely in the kitchen.

Gurdeaux jumped in, then Dachun, Tyson, Eckers and finally Rigger. Guns lined the inside of the chopper. Four total were clipped to the inside and had magazines placed in them. Gurdeaux didn't grab one but became tempted. His men grabbed onto the handles once they had become seated, but Gurdeaux was fortunate enough to be seated next to a seatbelt. He strung it out to its full length, secured it in the clip by wrapping it around his stomach and adjusted it tightly. His pulled on the tightening latch and secured himself. The belts weren't like those in cars. Although they went around the person's body, they had a second string which attached to the wall, allowing them to move around the chopper and operate the machine gun, which amazingly odd, stood mounted on the right side of the heli as opposed to the normal left.

Oaken came dashing at the belly and with both hands grabbed the floor. "You couldn't give me a normal bird?" asked Gurdeaux, pointing to the gun. Oaken examined his discrepancy and replied, "Oh shut up!"

Machine gun fire continued by Aesa Team returned fire. The tanks weren't in Gurdeaux's view but he knew they were still close by. "Colonel Oaken," shouted the pilot, turning to face the leader, "we saw what happened to your birdie and radioed in for a second escort to pick you and your men back up. That one ahead is yours!" "Okay," said Oaken, nodding at the good news.

Oaken turned to look back and saw he still had three men. "I guess this is where we part," the colonel said. "And so it is," answered Gurdeaux. Oaken dropped the gun and started to run to the new ride. He ran fast, breaking the wind with his sharp, dagger forming hands. He and his men made it safely, only being targeted by small-arms fire.

But as Oaken got in his old chopper exploded again. It was massive compared to the prior eruption. Though Gurdeaux couldn't see the colonel's facial expression, Oaken was gasping with confusion. The sergeant raised an eyebrow but signaled to the pilot to go.

Looking at the machine gun mounted on his right, the sergeant picked up an obvious idea. Gurdeaux looked awe-stricken at it, turned to Eckers and nudged his head toward the gun. He quickly got up and stood eagerly behind it, ready to kill any Tan that came into his eyesight. "Eckers, when you get the chance, fire at the table!" The private swiveled and nodded.

Gurdeaux's heli then picked up height and turned around. As Gurdeaux's side got a complete view of Oaken's chopper, everything, including him, suddenly blew up. It was utterly amazing for Gurdeaux to see his superior disappear in a blink of a flashing and raging inferno. Pieces broke apart like a cracker on concrete. Nothing remained as the huge fireball consumed the colonel and his men. His body flew backwards and out of the chopper. The impact with the floor further broke his plastic body into several pieces. The entire chopper disappeared into the enormous fireball and went as high as the dining room table chair, landing ferociously loud. It smacked into the wood, causing scratches and wood to fly up at the others. Gurdeaux took a big gulp and turned to face the table. "LET'S GO NOW!!" he screamed at the cockpit.

Eckers commenced firing at the bottom of the table. The chain of bullets went through the machine gun as fast as possible. Firing without any pause or moment of deliberation, Eckers attacked the tanks that still rolled along the floor and carpet. They hadn't gotten a good shot at Gurdeaux because from up above there was still two escorts, circling the base and launching missiles at the forces below.

More bullets could now be heard as the fire raged on in Gurdeaux's sight. The Tan tanks kept on moving and were trying their hardest to kill any Green soldier in their vicinity, but still couldn't get a hit. The chopper began to rise and Gurdeaux could feel his body getting light as the wind came in and started to cool his warm skin. From his left and through the whole in the 

belly of the copter Gurdeaux could see the entire window, and all the intricate cuts of broken glass.

The Tan tanks had made their way past the shadow of the table and now had passed the carpet under the table. They were heading for their second target, creating panic in Gurdeaux's mind. Not many troops walked alongside the tanks. Most of their bodies lay still near the table's legs. Some were crawling for help but none was going to come soon.

Eckers paused for a moment to inspect his damage. The chain of the machine gun still hadn't reached the halfway point and already the private must had fired a hundred rounds. "Eckers keep firing!" Gurdeaux yelled at him.

Eckers shot at anything below the table as his machine gun slanted downward. He went a little on his toes just to see what his bullets were getting launched at. Gurdeaux, who when coming onto the chopper had put his gun on his lap, grabbed the murdering weapon and tossed it towards Dachun's feet. The corporal looked at Gurdeaux with a puzzled demeanor. "It's alright," he started, "we're getting out of here."

His eyes closed and tears were about to come out. The sounds of Eckers' rampage started to fade out and sudden glimpse of his family appeared into his mind. His family came into sight but vanished without warning, and then a black car drove by him, only letting him see the trunk and back two wheels.

When the noise of assault rifle bullets hitting the metal floor below awoke him from his fright, he looked down and then saw a magazine being held in front of him by his leader's hands. There were three long clips, fully loaded and shiny. "You'll need these," Dachun said to the sergeant. Gurdeaux took hold of the clip and grabbed his gun back. He looked around but didn't 

see any troops, so he swung it around his back. The chopper was hovering even more above the ground.

"What's the hold up?!" screamed Gurdeaux. Eckers had stopped firing. The tanks had turned back from the pressure of the helis up high. "The engine must be damaged. We did take fire coming in and sitting here," responded the pilot. Dachun one of his clips and loaded his empty gun. Loaded, he pointed the weapon outwards to make sure no Tan soldiers stood atop the cabinet to his left. None could be seen but he still didn't want to take that chance.

Eckers started firing again. The jackets that flung out of Eckers' machine gun started to pile up inside the chopper. Higher and higher they began to rise as the chopper went above the table's height. Both pilots wanted to get distance between them and the ground before charging out the front side of the house.

"Do you want to go out the front of back sir? We've gotten word that more unites are stationed out on the front lawn." "We're pointed in that direction, so we might as well go that way! Just get us moving."

Turning around now and escaping out the backdoor window would be a very costly mistake. Off in the distance on the kitchen counter, unbeknown to Gurdeaux and his men, Tan troops were getting into position to shoot at them with whatever they had, if they so chose to come their way. Things were about to get interesting… but only if they were to chose the contingent path.

Rigger and Tyson, who sat on opposite sides but closest to the adrenaline pumped private behind the machine gun, looked out below and to each possible corner to see the war zone that had emerged underneath them. Another explosion came from the bottom. The smoke of the flames went up and soon the smell of burning plastic penetrated their nostrils. They looked at 

each other when the smell came to them and nodded. They whipped out their guns and held it firmly to their bodies.

The chopper now started to tilt forwards, meaning that the ride was about to begin… but it didn't last long. Guns were still being fired and another explosion came about. But smaller explosions were also coming into the air and echoing around the men's ears. Little holes started to get knocked in the wood-door frame and white walls that enclosed the men in the room. Wood chipped off and flew inside.

Gurdeaux kicked the pieces away but knew it wouldn't be enough. As wood peeled away from the frame and tumbled down to the wood floor the men inside, except for Gurdeaux, shouldered themselves to safety and covered their heads with their unarmed hands.

"We're getting shot at by an anti-aircraft gun. We only have four missiles left sir. What do you want us to do?" asked the copilot. On the windowsill was a lone anti-aircraft unit. They were in the middle of reloading their barrel of ammunition when the pilot spoke. "Shoot one and kill them!" replied Gurdeaux to the pilot. The pilot looked through the windshield glass, waited for the locked-on sound, and pressed down on the little red button.

A thin white cloud came streaking through the air and curved down, just in time to blow out the entire gun and its operators. When the missile hit the gun from the right, they flew to the left and disappeared behind the chair that towered over the men Gurdeaux had killed only moments ago. There was no doubt in his mind that in that corner lay more Tan reinforcements.

"We're clear to go," said the pilot, or so he assumed. Before he could even push down on his throttle, Tan helicopters appeared, flying towards them, emerging from the kitchen. "We've got TAC42s inbound sir!" yelled the pilot, watching his radar as red lights started to flash alongside a small beeping siren. They each flew with missiles underneath and turrets on their 

wings. The cannons were the size of a small car and had many holes drilled in their front sides. This meant more bullets were going to come, and going to cause damage.

Not being able to look behind him, the pilot lunged for the dashboard. "Hang on!" he yelled. The copilot reached in front of him and flicked some buttons up and down along with the pilot. The pilot turned the Green chopper in the direction of the incoming flying foes. With a flick of an index finger, the copilot moved a switch. The men in the back, with the exception of Gurdeaux, had absolutely no clue of what was about to happen.

The copter fell. It seemed like a rollercoaster ride at theme parks in the Old World, where they brought children up and high and then let you freefall, but now there was no certain stop before hitting the ground. Eckers hugged the machine gun and the rest clung to the handles inside. The Tan choppers sent missiles at them but narrowly missed the blades that spun above the squad. Three must have been fired and the men in the cockpit saw them come out and zoom over their heads. All three went past them, hitting and exploding on the door of the window wall. The pilot and copilot, who had kept their hands at the dashboard, then switched buttons back on just as the missiles went by and the chopper began to fall slower until it leveled out in midair. In all, the chopper lowered half the distance to the ground.

Eckers kept his eyes on the Tan choppers waiting for them to get in close range but knew it was not going to happen. As they approached Aesa Team's heli, the assemblage of aerial Tan fear veered left and then circled around the fortress atop the table. The two Green helicopters that had laid down devastation to the fort were now the new prime targets of the collection of Tan helis. Perhaps eight or ten were now in the dining room and sending missiles and bullets down at the enemies who flew around. More explosions erupted and Eckers saw the fireballs as he turned around. Tyson and Rigger, who sat on the left side of the belly, saw the carnage happen.

In a matter of less than five seconds, a Green chopper, who had already descended back to the floor with flimsy and burning blades, hit the hardwood floor. Some Green soldiers started to run out of their deadweight chopper and head for safety under the sofa and chairs that laid behind them. The chopper had come in at a funny angle, as though wanting to make it out through the back. None made however, as the Tan choppers stopped above them at the sofa's height and unleashed their weapons upon them.

Bullet after bullet hit either them or the floor, tearing holes in their bodies and then into the wood. Those that missed the moving targets flung back at upward angles, vanishing completely, or to the sides and landing in the walls. Flipping over as it contacted with the floor, the Green helicopter became shrapnel as the Tan missiles hit the right and back sides, making all the expensive metal pieces useless.

The second Green chopper dashed for safety, outrunning the Tan followers. It passed Gurdeaux's heli and went into the kitchen. Four tan helicopters followed the desperately fleeing copter, going behind the wall and doing whatever they could to bring down the worthy adversary.

Gurdeaux's chopper still wasn't going anywhere. "What is the problem?" the sergeant screamed. "The engine is having problems sir, but we're moving now!" the copilot replied. The heli swerved to the left, coming close to the dining room table. The blades didn't come near the legs but were close enough that the wind from their rotations flung body parts into the air. It then began to gain more height, and soon flew above the height of the table.

Above the Aesa Team's heads were still four more Tan TAC42s. They had circled the room and were now heading to Gurdeaux's position. They decided to attack from the right, thinking that this lonely helicopter was just a normal Green heli. Eckers could now see the 

incoming helis and moved the gun to get a good aim. He fired at the flying objects, casing them to wait firing a round at them.

The sparks that came off their metal bodies signaled to the private that he was hitting them and alarming them to move out. He fired relentlessly until he saw fire flame out of the top of one of the helicopters. A single TAC42 now stood in Eckers' sight as the remaining "unscathed" three went away, flying back to the sofa to retry another approach. The Tan chopper, with growing orange flames and dark grey smoke, started to turn around fanatically, gaining speed and unintentionally fanning out the flames.

It soon lost control and started to veer away from Eckers' sight and towards the sofa and dining room table. Regaining its balance, it caught a second wind and shot up in height but still couldn't stop swiveling as its speed increased. It was coming at the Tan troops in the fortress, darting in fast with its swirling tail going around and the cockpit revolving in circles as it too went in circles.

Finally Aesa Team watched with smiles as the troops on the table went fleeing for their lives as the chopper crashed and broke apart with the cockpit ejecting from the rest of the aircraft. Troops were hit by the debris and went in every direction, falling off the table and getting caught in the roaring flames that now damaged the polished furniture.

Eckers looked carefully at the new wreckage. The chopper had slammed on its side and broke in half. It was a glorious display of death but was short lived. The pilot leaned his throttle forward and off went Gurdeaux's chopper. Eckers looked out the belly again and could see the remaining three TAC42s drawing in.

He fired again at them and one went high and away. After a few seconds of firing the machine gun, the team's chopper tilted forward once again and began moving away from the dining room and into the kitchen, but now at a faster speed and lower altitude.

The food pantry on the right of the helicopter now appeared and the stairs were becoming more viewable as it crept in from behind the right-side kitchen wall. The kitchen windows where the dinner table was now could be seen with its light and the Tan fortress on top of it glimmered with rays of death and trouble. Before Gurdeaux and his men couldn't see the structure but now it was obvious why. With walls built low and away from the edges it was no wonder why Gurdeaux didn't see the fort.

Smoke and flames were spread on the table's top and LEGO pieces could be seen all over, taken apart from their former constructions. The island in the kitchen was in no better condition. Units stationed on top of the butcher table were decimated and had few survivors. Still there were living and moving Tan troops atop the kitchen's island and they now saw the Green helicopter and began running to their points of attack.

"We're being followed!" yelled Eckers. Gurdeaux stood up and traveled to Eckers who was now scared out of his mind. Leaning outside as far as his rope would let him, he saw danger approaching. Behind the squad were three Tan TAC42 choppers coming at them quickly. A few had puffs of black smoke coughing out of their tails and propellers but were still flying fast and looked ticked.

One of the Tan pilots saw a head pop up as just the Green chopper past the food pantry door and opened fire. Gurdeaux pushed himself back in and looked towards the cockpit. "Swerve!" he yelled at the pilots. Their hearts began pounding in their ribs and quick breaths started to come in and out of their lungs. The pilot tugged to the left and the chopper veered left. 

Just at the moment, a Green helicopter came out of nowhere and crashed into the food pantry door. It had impacted above Gurdeaux's helicopter but the debris was going to come down fast.

From behind one of the Tan pilots, pressing hard on his little yellow button, let bullets fly out of the cannons. They whizzed and zoomed past the aircraft, streaking through the air and sending small whizzing air blows into the men's faces.

The Green helicopter was now in the kitchen and below, Gurdeaux and the others could see what before the ground wouldn't let them. On the counters were all sorts of outposts. Guard towers overlooked each corner and protected the sinks, kitchen appliances and counters. They were dug in away from the edges and had low walls.

Gurdeaux held on tightly as the swerving force pressed down on his body, as it did to the others. None of his men were secured inside the chopper so they grabbed on to all the handles they could. Eckers clung to the machine gun and wrapped his legs around its base, hoping the fight would end soon and they would get out alive.

The TAC42s kept coming. Though now of their sights the Green helicopter was not out of their minds. They too veered left but only two made it past the pantry door. Just as the middle chopper flew past the door, almost scraping the white wood with its blades, the demolished and wrecked Green heli came down, smashing into the middle of the bird. Like its friend at the dining room table, the cockpit came off and started tumbling in the air. Unfortunately Gurdeaux wasn't able to see the magnificent ruins that came about on the hardwood floor.

When the chopper passed the shiny and silver fridge Gurdeaux looked to his right to see the battle that was raging on without them. Puffs of smoke littered the air above the couches and fireplace as Green tanks and aircraft pummeled the Tan positions. Green troops could be seen, faintly though, running on the hardwood floor and advancing deep into enemy territory.

The noise was getting louder and Tan choppers were still firing, even though their bullets were hitting the walls and possibly their own men below and far off in the back of the family room. Tugging his throttle to the right, the pilot swung the helicopter to the right, making the force harder on Gurdeaux and the others inside.

Tyson, still sitting away from Eckers, kept trying to keep his grip on the handles inside. But right before the second swerve he changed his grip to holding the outside frame of the chopper. Both his hands were grasping the metal as his feet began to slide form under him and lift up. Aesa Team's heli was almost completely on its side, something not uncommon in the Green Air Force.

They dangled for a bit but then reached the floor where they couldn't be held firmly. His feet were slipping, not being able to find a firm footing. Nearly on its side at a steep angle, the chopper was now pushing the men's strengths to their limits. Dachun grabbed onto the handles above him as did Rigger. Tyson was still trying his hardest to hold on.

Tan troops below were now completely stunned by what was going on above. Those who were stationed at the toaster at the end of the butcher block watched as their own choppers were chasing and shooting at a fast Green helicopter with hands sticking out of its sides. Sitting in the middle of the kitchen, the butcher block contained many Tan troops. Though a good portion of them were dead, the remaining soldiers were now fully aware about what was needed of them.

Raising their guns and pointing at the belly of the green aircraft, they started firing all sorts of guns. Hand guns, rifles, sniper rifles and even shotguns were being used to bring it down. As the bullets hit and penetrated the skin of the aircraft like a knife through butter, Tyson began losing his grip. The sounds of ricocheting bullets started to worry him even more than hanging on for dear life.

Finally, as the ricochets started to decrease, the sweat from Tyson's hands became too much for him and his grip became loose. His body slid partially on the floor and partially in the air down past Rigger and in between Dachun and Gurdeaux. The four men watched helplessly as their comrade slipped away and out of the chopper in front of their eyes.

Gurdeaux saw Tyson start to roll over onto his back as the helicopter kept turning a hard right, making the poor private come at him. Letting go of one of the handles, Gurdeaux stretched out his right hand and tried to the private's jacket as he came his way. But only Tyson's elbow got into his palm and quickly got out.

The private fell out and fell with eyes locked onto the blades that had carried him this far. They seemed to rotate slow and make everything drain away. Tyson started to go onto his side but he kept his eyes looking up. Soon only the light from the windows could be seen as the chopper became smaller and smaller. It wasn't long before his body stopped moving and landed on the butcher block. The thick dirty wood smashed into his body, breaking his shoulder and arm on impact. Thankfully, he didn't die, although his squad members thought otherwise. He landed on his shoulder and his head hammered onto the other side. It was good that he wore a helmet, for had he impacted without I there would have bee more than just the right side of his body hurting.

Tan troops who had only seconds before fired upon him, raced to his side to capture him and take him alive. Hung over his back, Tyson's gun lay beside him but he didn't bother to reach for it. He moaned in pain and let out a tear. He saw at a lopsided angle men racing at him and tan objects fly over head. The noise from the background had faded and now his heart could be heard. "Mom," he began saying, "Mom let me come home." The Tan soldiers were now feet 

away but had not fired. Tears started coming out of the corners of Tyson's eyes. "Momma," Tyson started speaking, "please let me come home."

Up above, the bullets kept coming at the Green helicopter. The Tan pilots behind weren't firing any missiles because they couldn't get a lock on. Navigating an escape from enemy fire, the Green pilots inside the cockpit were trying their best to avoid being hurt. Thinking quickly, the copilot screamed to the men behind him, "Get the gun ready! We're going to whip this thing on its side!"

Eckers heard the words and lifted himself up from the gun, but kept his legs around it. The pilots pulled back and to the left on the joysticks hard but then leaned them to the right slowly. Passing over them, the Tan helicopters didn't understand what was happening but circled around for a second try at killing the Green soldiers. They went away, veering right and retracing the path they had just taken.

The pilots move their throttles to the left again, letting Eckers get the whole view of the Kitchen. Eckers stood up when the chopper became balanced and stable. He looked out and saw the window above the sink, Tan troops moving below it and wood cupboards placed on each wall of the kitchen. He could hear the bullets coming from below as the Tan soldiers kept firing. The sounds of action and combat all around his sides were now becoming more chilling as the explosions shook the air he breathed. To his left, he now saw the Tan choppers racing around. They were now vulnerable and he decided to take advantage of this.

Gurdeaux and Dachun were looking at the scene with the private and pulled out their guns. Rigger seemed as though he was about to faint but turned to his right and slumped over to get his rifle from behind him. All four men inside were now holding their guns and taking aim.

Looking behind him, Eckers saw the men lifting their bodies and heads to see what was coming around to shoot them down. He looked out again and now saw that the two helis were still turning, about to face him directly. This was going to be a head-on assault. Eckers waited for the Tan choppers to get into a wider viewpoint so the others could get a good shot as well. Gurdeaux and Dachun stood on one knee each as Rigger sat with his rifle in his lap. His will to fight was now diminishing at the seconds passed by, but he still looked down the barrel of his gun. The closest cockpit was what his eye focused on.

Eckers fired first, hitting the cockpit of the back chopper as it circled behind the other one. After twenty or thirty bullets ejecting out the machine gun, it went on its side and veered downward at the sink. The other men started firing at the front chopper and also hit the cockpit. Leveled and coming at slow speeds, the Tan choppers made themselves easier targets than the ones they were trying to eliminate.

Eckers kept firing at the two and kept hitting the cockpits, and soon started hitting the blades. Rigger held the rifle to his stomach as his magazine emptied. His fired all his rounds and then with a shaking hand reached for a second cartridge.

Shots came from the cannons of the chopper as it flew closer to Aesa Team. Bullets charged at the Green soldiers but only hit the wall, pantry door and frame of the copter. The bullets hit and bounced off the outer parts of the chopper, striking all sorts of areas and even whizzed past the men inside as they came through the openness of the belly.

Rigger held onto the trigger as his clip ran out of bullets again. He was the first to get hit. A streak of metal pellets dug into and out of his body. Some of the bullets dinted the insides of the chopper and went off out into the unknown parts of the house behind the men. Rigger flailed 

with his arms and legs kicking as the bullets carved holes into his body, tearing off his leg and hand with immense force.

Gurdeaux finished his magazine and seeing the bullets come at him and Rigger, jumped to Dachun's side where it appeared safer, almost getting hit the head with a string of slugs. Rigger bounced off the wall behind as a final blow caught his torso, projecting out of the chopper. He fell thirty feet before hitting the wall but broke apart on the floor. He fell as the first Tan chopper to be hit crashed into the wall below the window and above the sink. Flames shot out of the crash and engulfed the unfortunate Tan troops who guarded the white wet sink. Rigger tumbled without control to the hardwood floor and when his body hit, he broke apart into many pieces. An arm went to the fridge, one leg to the pantry door and his head to the island. His guts were flung all around, equaling an area the size of a basketball court. He was now unrecognizable.

Eckers hadn't stopped firing at the Tan pilots. The metal jackets were now clumping beside him and on the ground below his buddy had just landed on. The second Tan chopper, now with no windshield and pilots with multiple holes in their bodies, leaned forward and headed downward. As it approached the team, Eckers' left arm flew from the gun and back to the wall, making an imprint of blood in the shape of an L. A couple of his fingers, too hard to tell for Dachun at the moment, were now missing on his other hand.

The bullets still came out of the guns from the team and kept hitting and wounding the pilots inside but Eckers was now stumbling down to his knees. His hand dripped blood on the floor and his legs were now trembling with shock. Only his index finger and thumb remained intact. He looked into the cockpit of the Tan chopper and saw the bright little fires in the cannons grow larger.

A collision was going to occur. The Tan pilots knew they couldn't win. A fire was starting to engulf their aircraft and blood gushed from their parts and onto the instruments in front of them. But they never let go of their throttles, and never stopped firing rounds.

Eckers took a dozen more bullets and dropped off the gun. Landing on the middle of his back, his body went over the edge and the weight carried him off the chopper just like Rigger.

In a last attempt to survive, the pilots inside the Tan chopper pulled up and to their left. Gurdeaux and Dachun, along with their pilots, watched as it went away to their right and disappeared behind the tail. It moved up too fast however, as its belly clipped the tail and tore off the blades. The collision sent Gurdeaux and Dachun to the floor and shook the pilots in their seats. Their seatbelts now became nooses as both of their necks pulled into them.

The Tan chopper's cockpit was sliced as it bore into the tail. Each blade made another incision into the metal body. At first, it cut through the nose and broke apart any remaining intact pieces of the windshield. But a split second later, the blades suddenly cut through the thick front and tunneled to the cockpit. Rotating fast with axe-like edges, the blades cut off the limbs and torsos of the Tan pilots. Legs sliced off like slivers of meat at an abattoir from the butchers that worked the animals' carcasses. The blades chopped through the bones and broke their legs apart, shattering the tenants and joints with lightning speed. Next were their thighs and hands, then the chests and finally, their two heads became victims as well. They fell over dead and let the blades finish the rest of their bodies.

Veering to the left, the chopper headed for the wall adjacent to the pantry door. Parts of the tail came along for a short ride but eventually came off and dropped onto the hardwood floor. Pieces flew high in the air and landed far away as the cockpit hit the wall. Some pieces hit the stairs while most landed on the hardwood floor in the kitchen, away from the Green chopper. T 

chopper's top blades ripped off into sections as it hit the white wall. An explosion came about and sent debris flying at Gurdeaux. When the fireball emerged, the entire chopper went away.

Gurdeaux now realized that his helicopter was beginning to spin and it was gaining speed. The tail was gone and the top blades weren't going to be able to land this thing in one piece.

Alarms and weird noises erupted from the cockpit and flashing red lights started illuminating the body of the aircraft. "HANG ON!" yelled the copilot, as his hand switched on and off buttons above him. The pilot was pounding away at the dashboard but was having no success. Gurdeaux started to lose his balance, along with Dachun. The corporal couldn't get to his feet as the bird kept winding around above the butcher block.

Gurdeaux's heli started spinning slowly counter-clockwise but gained speed in no time, creating high velocity spins that brought the bird closer to the butcher's table. Tan troops who were watching the unfolding events stared at the twirling chopper. It was loosing more control as it made more rotations above them. Without orders, they started to shoot the metal bird. Gurdeaux and Dachun ducked and grabbed onto the floor as the ricochets emerged yet again. Shots were coming from all directions. It wasn't just those on the butcher block who were trying to take them out. Forces positioned along the granite top that wound its way from the fridge to the end of the counter shot bazooka shells, which zoomed by, alarming the pilots even more.

Gurdeaux could see the pale white streaks appear and quickly disintegrate in the air as the whistling noises of missed shots passed his ears. As his hands kept a hold on the floor's handles and the chopper kept going around, a bazooka was fired from the corner where the blender sat. It came rapidly at them and seemed as though it was about to hit the cockpit. But because the chopper kept turning, the cockpit shifted, allowing the shell to come through the body of the 

aircraft. It flew over Gurdeaux's back and Dachun's shoulder as he now lay on his side, gripping the ends of the floor. Heat poured over both of them and soothed them for a futile second in time.

The force of the chopper's turning made it start to veer away from the butcher block and towards the stove, which sat in the middle of the counter, under the microwave and to the right of the fridge. Both pilots had given up on the controls and now held on their headrest handles. Mounted on both sides, the handles offered at least some hope that they would emerge from the wreckage. Gurdeaux on the other hand was not so optimistic. He had been in helicopter crashes before, but not after an aerial fight like this. There was only so much abuse a chopper could take before letting its passengers go down with it.

Dachun couldn't take the whirling force of the chopper anymore and ran out of strength. His hands let go but his fingers still stuck out, trying to grab onto anything as he started to slide off the aircraft. His body went in a slanted direction as the chopper kept rotating. Gurdeaux was on the opposite side, holding on so the rope wouldn't have to do all the work. He could see Dachun coming at him and going to the side. With one hand still on a handle, he threw his other at Dachun's arm as he came by his side.

Gurdeaux's right hand had caught Dachun's left arm, but it quickly slid and now became Gurdeaux holding his left hand. Dachun was stunned and confused. The ground was supposed to be coming at him and becoming larger. He looked up and could see Gurdeaux's face. The sergeant's legs stayed inside with his left arm, but his head leaned out to watch him. His neck and arm veins now popped through the skin and began to grow thicker and longer. Gurdeaux was now holding a man with one arm as the chopper he was in continued to flail in circles above enemy forces.

Dachun looked around. The picture was revolving fast around his eyes but he could see images easily. Green troops were now on top of the kitchen table, a window past the sofa along the wall was open and the fridge was coming at him. He widened his eyes at the sight of the huge block at metal the chopper was now coming at. Looking up, Gurdeaux now had his eyes closed as he squirmed with pain from the weight he was carrying. Dachun's feet dangled as the wind brought coldness up his green pants and as far as his waste. He kicked and didn't know why. Nothing was high enough for his toes to tap on and get away from the whirling bird.

Gurdeaux reopened his eyes and saw the fridge, then the stove, then the fridge, and then the stove. In between was a slice of granite. It would take the impact and not gain a scratch. This was where he and Dachun, and hopefully the pilots, would crash land.

Gurdeaux didn't have to wait long for Dachun to come off his arm. The chopper had gone down so far during its tumbling flight that Dachun's feet touched the granite as it came to the counter. Gurdeaux saw this, let go of the corporal who jumped off the same time his feet touched the counter top and his flew to one of the stove's elements. His head hit hard but the helmet took most of the blow. When he stopped rolling from the drop, he went into a daze. His eyes were quickly blanketed by blackness. He was now unconscious, unaware of the fate of the others in the EC13.

But Gurdeaux held on as the chopper hit the granite. Both pilots' bodies went up nearly tearing their belts from their locks and slammed into the dashboard controls. The alarms shut off but the lights continued to flash their colors. Gurdeaux's head hit the top of the helicopter and knocked him out. The belt kept him inside as the tremendous crash made him limp. His grip on the handle went dead and his fingers loosened.

The chopper's belly hit first but went forward. Narrowly missing Dachun as his body rolled away, the chopper kept moving in its counter-clockwise direction, with its blades going over the front and breaking apart on the granite. The whole helicopter flipped over and landed onto its back. Next the tail pounced and tore off, bouncing away and landing on the element on the far end of the stove.

The chopper skidded a bit, tumbled over repeatedly and finally ended up hitting the white wall that hid behind the fridge and continued throughout the kitchen. The sudden halt of the chopper's movement jolted the pilots to the left as they now sat appropriately with their heads above their behinds but faced the east side of the kitchen. The sink was visible, out of the corner of their bleeding eyes. They then lunged back into their seats as the impact ended. Dizzy and not knowing what was happening, they passed out and lay still.

Moving off the wall from the impact, the chopper skidded away on the polished granite and turned. The pilots now faced the back door with their eyes closed, with Gurdeaux lying on his belly on the floor of the helicopter. His right arm hung over the edge and touched the cold dark green granite. Just like Dachun and the pilots, he didn't move.

Pieces of the chopper and equipment from the men inside lay out and all over the granite. One of Eckers' grenades lay next to the fridge and several guns that were clipped on board to the walls littered the stove top. Shredded metal and bolts lay undisturbed with light gleaming off and making them visible against the surface they laid on. Smoke steamed out of the chopper and rose to the ceiling. Gurdeaux was now unconscious, as were the pilots and Dachun. Everyone was knocked out and vulnerable. Soon, Tan forces were going to come to them, capture them, and then do whatever they wanted.


	12. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11: Captured**

Gurdeaux began to ache as he tried desperately to open his eyes. Dirt and blood stood on top of his eyelids and made them difficult to spread apart. He moved his arms to get his palms facing the ground. Pushing himself up and opening his eyes at the same time, he felt the chopper's floor below his fingers and saw the kitchen wall behind the tail-missing back end of his ride. The smell of burning fuel and hot metal flooded his nose and smoke began to wedge into his lungs. He coughed and opened his eyes more. Turning his head, Gurdeaux saw the far kitchen corner to his left and the fridge to his right.

The sergeant got to his feet but shook as he gained his balance. Lines of blood ran down the length of his arms and neck. His legs were hurting and the soles of his pants were leaking green blood. He could taste the bitter liquid in his mouth. His whole body was a wreck, but nothing compared to the chopper.

He turned to the back of the pilots' chairs. "You guys okay? You guys alive?" There was no answer. He sighed and began walking out of the wrecked heli.

Scratches covered his arms and his pants were torn at the knees, revealing his wrinkles and old battle scars. Around his waist was nothing: the belt had flung off and disappeared. His head didn't seem to hurt but he felt as if he had just come from out of surgery. Dizziness consumed him as he tried to grab a hold of the ceiling above him. There was silence all around. No explosions or gunfire could be heard and as he turned to view the backdoor.

After taking several steps he found himself near the edge of the granite counter. He passed by blade fragments, glass, an assault rifle with magazines lying around, a finger with the bone jutting out and then a pile of what use to be a machine gun. A crevice lay between the fridge and counter, but it way too small for him to slide down and escape through.

Light from the windows was in little abundance. The kitchen wasn't as bright as when Gurdeaux and his men went down. It seemed the sun was now gone and the moonlight was the new candle. The house was still active on the other hand. Red and yellow bulbs blinked in the distance and towers with spotlights became noticeable. Their lights shined on every single object they could reach, trying to find any wounded or dead soldiers from both sides. It seemed no one was looking in Gurdeaux's direction, as if they had assumed he and the others were dead.

Gurdeaux could see smoke and dead bodies covering the ground and furniture. Although the kitchen counter obscured his view of the family room, the granite counter made him stand high for a good vantage point. The Green and Tan soldiers lying still under the dinner table and the medics running at the top of the leather sofa gave him full awareness of what had unfolded.

Green tanks made rows below the table and their broken treads and blown off tops made him feel uneasy and scared. The diversion had worked, too well it seemed. Oaken's forces had gone too far into the Tan threshold, stretching their lines to their thinnest. Without any backup, and perhaps an escape plan, the Green forces had no chance. They literally walked into the backyard, into the house and stopped to die. The ultimate sacrifice had been taken by so many men today. Things were beginning to look more gloom than previously though. Emerging from the helicopter he had crashed with was one thing, but viewing the scenery was a completely new spook. Gurdeaux began to wonder where the help was and if his army had taken over the sector even part of the sector.

On the butcher block were Tan troops, mobilizing at both ends. They may have been anticipating a second wave of Green units or possibly were just getting ready to secure their borders. Gurdeaux didn't know and didn't care. The blackness made the kitchen a new zone for 

camouflage. Down below the fires from the crashes were gone and only shouts came up. Works crews must have been clearing the area.

Rustling then came from behind him. Moaning and thumps were coming out of the cockpit. Gurdeaux walked slowly backwards, keeping his head facing the butcher block. Though he wanted to run to the pilots' door the risk of running and being seen was too great, even with no lights on or near him.

As he went back to the spot he just came from, he could see the stove elements to his right but there was no sight of Dachun. The pitch black surface could conceal anything in its darkness.

Gurdeaux touched the outside of the cockpit, scratching his fingers on the jagged rough metal and glass pieces that stood still in the small cracks of the frame. Bolts were gone and it didn't seem that the chopper would stay intact, as it was, much longer.

He kneeled down next to the right side door and saw the copilot, hunched over and drooling spit and blood on the dashboard. His head was bleeding and his arms looked broken. Gurdeaux couldn't see his feet but he didn't wish to ask him to move them. "Hold on," the sergeant said as he reached for the outside handle. The doorknob, a horizontal bar on the outside of the cockpit door, was tight and rusty, but with both hands, Gurdeaux managed to pry it lose and turn it to make an escape route for the hurt pilot.

"What's your name?" Gurdeaux asked him as he made his way around the open door to unbuckle the man. "Doer," he replied. Gurdeaux looked past his face to see the condition of the pilot. His head was buried into the dashboard and sparks flew out of his eye sockets; a piece of the electronics had been buried in his skull with wires connecting to the main panel. His hands were bent and twisted with bones protruding out of the skin. His spine was sticking out of his 

right side and hung lower than his back. Gurdeaux choked as he swallowed the sight down his throat.

"I'm going to unbuckle you and get you out," Gurdeaux said, turning his attention back to Doer. "No," began Doer, "I'm too hurt to move and we don't have any medical kits onboard. Radio in with for a response unit." Gurdeaux looked down at his waste and remembered that his belt was gone, and that meant the radio. "My radio is gone." "Then use the spare in the back box in the middle of the back wall of the belly and call for a medical unit." Gurdeaux nodded and jogged to the belly of the chopper.

Everything was hard to decipher but after glancing at the wall that was welded to the tail section, Gurdeaux spotted the box. He walked in and turned the knob, a circle with a bar in the middle, letting all the supplies fall out. A spare parachute, some ammo and a radio fell into his lap as he crouched down inside the chopper.

He switched to channel 453. "This is Gurdeaux. Can anyone hear me?" There was no response as he slid his arm and radio down away from his face. The channel was right but he wasn't getting a signal. Only static clogged the airways and his patience was beginning to thin.

"Sergeant Gurdeaux, are you alright?" Malist said. "Yes sir, I'm fine. I'm hurting but the copilot is far worse," he said. Tan soldiers started to shout louder, forcing Gurdeaux to get closer to the fridge in his chopper. The butcher block was becoming more active and noisy. Stretching his hand, he grabbed the metal frame and pulled himself into the back corner of the chopper's belly. His body inside the aircraft but the threats still lingered outside.

"General Malist, we need a medical unit to come here quickly," Gurdeaux whispered in the radio. "My pilot has broken arms and needs morphine. My copilot is dead, Rigger and Eckers were shot out of the bird, and Tyson fell out. Dachun…." Gurdeaux trailed off as he suddenly 

peered to at the elements, hoping to see the body of the corporal. To have survived the crash would be nothing short of a contradiction of the natural laws of science, but had he perished during the crash it would be nothing more than an expected reaction to the dramatic action.

"What? What about Dachun?" Malist asked loudly. Gurdeaux stared into the dark openness of the stove top and let the radio slip more away from his face as the seconds past. Thrusting it fast back to his mouth, Gurdeaux said, "I'm going to go look for him."

Gurdeaux dropped the radio while Malist spoke in a high voice, "What? Gurdeaux! Wait!" Gurdeaux stopped moving and grabbed the radio. "What is it sir?" "Before you go on a suicide mission… Like the one you sent me and my men on?" Gurdeaux interrupted. Malist paused for a moment but returned back to the conversation. "Before you go I want you to know that the mission was a success. Only three men were injured on the way back to GB 14, none seriously. We got seven scientists, a few lab books and a TEG prisoner. Toole and I are proud of you soldier."

Gurdeaux shook his head. "I barely survived and didn't even make it out of the house. A good portion of men died, including Oaken and… That's right, he did die," interrupted Malist. Stumbling to retrieve his words Gurdeaux gathered his thoughts. "Yes, he blew up in front of me."

Remembering the scene from a few hours ago Gurdeaux started to paint the action in the back of his eyes. There was the first explosion of Oaken's chopper, and the colonel got in a new one. Then a second explosion followed and finally Oaken's body disappeared in a fireball.

"Sir, I need to get back to the base and the only way is to get a chopper in here now before the Tan send their own. I don't know who runs the show in this house but I don't think once I and Dachun are captured we won't make it out alive."

"Well Gurdeaux I can honestly say that I've never heard you sound so nervous in my whole career dealing with you. You truly are nervous." "You're damn right I am. Not because I might die but because my men will. No offense to them but compared to me, and everyone knows this, they're expendable. You got a thousand more men at your base alone who could step up and take the role of Dachun or Tyson."

"Sergeant Gurdeaux you need to remain calm. We will come get you, just give us time. Our choppers are being refueled and repaired. You did your job soldier, now let us do ours. We'll come get you."

Gurdeaux pondered about Malist's words but snapped back. "I haven't finished my job." Gurdeaux slammed the radio into the floor startled the copilot. The device broke apart and jumped at the wall. While the device had parts break off it still appeared functioning. Squealing burst out of the radio and the faint voice of Malist could be detected.

The sergeant started walking out into the open of the granite counter. Before even taking ten steps away from the chopper and getting away from the general's nagging voice, Gurdeaux spotted the rifle from before. This one was a little different than the one he used before during the mission; this rifle included a bayonet. It may have come from the chopper when it crashed but he didn't know for certain. He grabbed it off the ground, grabbed two of the magazines next to it and stuffed them in his pocket. He held the rifle, a G6, to his stomach.

The tan still hadn't spotted him or advanced to his position but he still needed to find Dachun. He scanned his area and found nothing moving on the stove elements. Gurdeaux moved his body closer to the beginning of the stove top for a better look but still nothing appeared.

It wasn't until the words, "Gurdeaux… here," were voiced did Gurdeaux locate where his corporal had ended up. He couldn't see him but had a very educated guess. Dachun's light 

colored uniform blended in with the element. It was amazing how Gurdeaux wasn't able to see him, but to be fair he had slid about a two hundred and fifty feet from the impact point.

Dachun's voice registered in Gurdeaux's mind and he looked for the corporal's body. The voice sounded again. "Gurdeaux I'm over here." It was coming from the left, near the edge of the stove where it met the tiled wall in the back.

Gurdeaux rushed over with the gun in both hands. As he closed in on the end of the stove, he sank lower and nearly let his knees touch the surface. In his sights was the corner of the kitchen. The cabinets cast deep shadows in the area and provided enough cover for a battalion of men to hide. Gurdeaux examined the breadbox, the mixer and the small pieces of cloth by the devices. It was clear, oddly clear.

Gurdeaux then twisted to view the butcher block. The Tan men were roaming around, gathering guns and moving boxes but still paid no attention to his side of the kitchen.

He dropped his gun and let his eyes focus and adjust to get a better look at his man. Dachun was banged up and looked hurt, badly. Gurdeaux got to his side and kneeled next to him. He placed his left hand under his head and the right on his stomach. He didn't have any chest wounds but his jacket was soaked with blood.

"Dachun, are you okay?" he asked, swinging the gun around his back. "I can't move. My legs might be broken. I called your name about half an hour ago but gave up and tried crawling to the ledge so I'd get noticed by the Tan troops. No one's seen me yet." "I know, they're acting pretty stupid or waiting for us to mess up."

Dachun coughed and a ball of blood landed on the sergeant's hand. It was a raspy choke and sent chills down the sergeant's back. "I can't get up. I think I'm completely broken," said the corporal.

Gurdeaux examined Dachun's legs as he spoke and saw that the right was bent in the wrong place. He couldn't see the bone, but felt as though it was touching his pant leg. "Put your arms around me and I'll bring you to the chopper. I've got Malist on hold," Gurdeaux said.

The sergeant picked his rifle off the stove top, swung the strap around his neck and reached out for the corporal. Dachun reached out with both arms and Gurdeaux stuck his head between them. Closing his hands with a tight grip, Dachun helped his commander hoist him above the top. Gurdeaux kept both his hands wrapped around Dachun's good leg as he started to walk back to the chopper. Dachun hissed with pain but stopped when he saw the chopper in both his eyes. Safety was approaching. Gurdeaux could feel broken ribs on the back of the corporal, jutting out of the skin and leaking blood onto his hands.

Tan forces across at the butcher block watched as the two Green soldiers walked back to the down helicopter. "Sir," said one of them to a man near by, "there's some people moving at the fridge!" The high-ranking man walked up to his grunt's position and watched what he was seeing. Two vague figures, one carried like a bride and the other walking hunched over, panned across to the other side of the stove top. "Get on the radio and get some men over there NOW!" he said angrily.

Gurdeaux continued to carry Dachun slowly until helicopter blades could be heard. Gurdeaux stopped only feet from the chopper and turned to look to his left. Roaring sounds erupted. Vibrating was the new wind, darkening Dachun's outlook. "They're coming to kill us," Dachun said. "No," began Gurdeaux, "… they're coming to die."

Two Tan helicopters with missiles and cannons were rising above the butcher block counter and beginning to turn to face the sergeant and corporal. Gurdeaux dashed for the belly of the chopper and laid Dachun down at the rear. Dachun hissed and coughed shrieks of pain as his 

tormented and demented back smashed into the cold metal. "Just stay here and talk to Malist," Gurdeaux ordered him, handing the radio into his right hand. Dachun saw the Gurdeaux's back and then let his head drop to the ground. He brought the radio to his cheek and began talking. "General Malist…"

Meanwhile, Gurdeaux went next to the pilot's door, opened it to its fullest and hid behind. Veering through the copilot's window he was able to see the choppers coming. "Sergeant Gurdeaux, what's going on?" said the copilot. His eyes were closed, doing his best to tune out the pain raging on in his body. Gurdeaux looked at him and shook his head. "I don't know," he replied.

The choppers roared and shattered all the silence that lay in the cool air above the granite counter. A third Tan heli came out from behind a breadbox on the butcher block, heading to the sink as were the others. They had spot lights but were not bright enough to locate Gurdeaux's body.

After a brief pause in midair, they shifted to the right and went straight to the opposing side of the stove top. They circled over, slowly coming closer to their new landing spot and ended up on the far elements. He couldn't see how many men were inside as they landed with their sides facing him. But since there were two and they looked like standard Tan choppers, he guessed twelve to eighteen. The third chopper hovered over the other two. It looked like a normal escort chopper, perhaps for higher ranking men but Gurdeaux couldn't tell from this distance. The blades of the landed choppers kept roaring but the lights turned off.

Men began to jump out with guns held at the chests. They jogged to the down Green helicopter, hoping to catch the living men inside. Gurdeaux raised his rifle and looked for the first soldier to come close to him. As the troops took their sweet time to get to their enemies, 

Gurdeaux looked down at his chest. He hadn't noticed, not even when he picked up Dachun that two grenades clung to his clips. They dangled as his chest expanded and deflated with every breath.

Gurdeaux yanked a grenade from his vest. The fuse was five seconds. One he counted, TWO, Three and then came the toss. Landing only feet in front of the larger group, it exploded, sending limbs up and to the sides. Men in front and in the rear were startled, sliding to the ground to get away from another detonation. Two or three dashed to the sides, rolling onto the edges of the stove top. A puff of thick grey smoke appeared and quickly thinned, leaving just enough of a thin veil to keep Gurdeaux being seen. Those that went up almost hit the microwave and bounced back to the ground. At least four or five men fell and lay motionless on the elements.

Gurdeaux opened fire and shot down the three in the front. His G6 was a single shot, 20-round rifle. His itchy trigger finger had no problem squeezing the tiny curved piece, launching one, then two, and by the time the third soldier had fallen eleven shots. He stood up, turned his attention to his left and nailed two soldiers crawling under the microwave next to the control panel of the stove. They gave no resistance as four shots sliced their necks open.

By himself the lone Tan soldier at the edge of stove had made it to the far right and started returning fire. He shot six, maybe seven shots, none of them reaching Gurdeaux or the cockpit. Running and shooting was a skill, something he didn't have. Gurdeaux left the protection of the pilot's door and walked to the front of the chopper. He looked into his sights, following the head of the running soldier. With one squeeze a bullet was sent through the air and out the back of the corporal's skull. He kept moving his legs and flailed his arms for a few steps, 

but then came crashing down into the ledge of the stove, falling over the side and disappearing into the abyss.

The grenade did its job but now Gurdeaux's G6 was performing its, sending more to the ground. Wounded and disoriented, the Tan group held their ground, hoping he lone Green soldier would come their way. But instead of waiting for his foes to come to him, Gurdeaux reloaded a new magazine and charged from the front of the chopper for the remaining Tan soldiers.

The air cooled him off as his gun followed his body's movement. Troops didn't notice him coming through the thin grey cloud that had come about from the grenade. But shots came anyways: a dink there and a whiz here. The shots charged up at Gurdeaux, hitting the helicopter and fridge instead. Unbeknownst to the sergeant most of the Tan soldiers behind the now transparent fog of smoke were paying their attention on the injured men, dragging them from the detonation core were the grenade had landed. They neglected to see the danger coming at them.

Gurdeaux leaped over the three dead bodies with bullet holes. Already blood had trickled out from their wounds and made a puddle. He kept his speed and dashed over the explosion sight, jumping into the pile surviving Tan soldiers.

There was a few crouched, looking back at the standing comrades dragging lifeless or flailing bodies. First Gurdeaux jabbed his gun forward and sent the bayonet through the neck of a Tan captain. His head was completely turned away from the sergeant, never seeing the impaling blade break his eye sockets in half. Gurdeaux could tell by the color of his jacket and the insignia of the right shoulder which face him as he darted in for the kill. The captain also had a whistle around his neck, but unfortunately never used it.

Blood leaked over the inserted knife and went down his shirt and onto Gurdeaux's boots. The sergeant took the bayonet out of the man violently and sent it to the next closest man. There 

was no time to respond. With the blades still running in the background no one heard the captain's skull smack into a bayonet, let alone hear his body plummet to the stove top.

The second man didn't fire a round as his direction was focused towards the right side of the chopper and the fridge wall. Gurdeaux's bayonet crammed into the man's lung and then came out. After collapsing he lay on the ground with one arm on top of his body. Gurdeaux jammed his gun into his heart, ending his pain and life.

Now the Tan forces were aware of what was happening and decided to shoot the Green man. Gurdeaux turned to his left and whipped his rifle to the right side of his body, launching another whole clip into more Tan bodies. Even those dragging the wounded were hit, falling over the already suffering men.

Gurdeaux ran out of rounds and looked around with a sharp eye. Some were still crouched or lay prone. Suddenly two Tan grunts came after him from behind. They came at him and started to knock on his head with the bunts of their rifles. Gurdeaux lost his balance after the first blow. They had bashed his right ear into his head. It hurt, very much, but quickly got back up.

He was on his back at first, falling from the impact, but when he pressed his elbow against the element, his gun came in front of him and he stood on one knee. The two troops ran at him with their rifles in the air, held by both hands with the metal bunts in the lead. Gurdeaux brought his gun to his right side and whipped it to the left, slicing through the chests of two men. The two fell simultaneously and grabbed their intestines as the leaked out.

From behind, another blow came and sent the sergeant to the ground. His assault rifle flew away from his body as his arms lunged upwards from the reaction of the blow. The stove top was cold and Gurdeaux knew instantly as he hit it. Succumbing to the pain briefly, Gurdeaux 

checked behind him. The Tan soldier was coming at him with his gun raised. Stretching his leg out, he stopped the man's running and kicked him backwards to the ground.  
Gurdeaux grabbed his gun and turned onto his backside once more. Now a half-circle of Tan soldiers had formed and were carrying their guns backwards. Three of them slowly moved into formation around him, completely encircling Gurdeaux. He held down the trigger, pressed it again and again, but all he could hear was soft clicks of metal tapping metal. The surviving Tan soldier who had been kicked by Gurdeaux's boot got back up and stared at the sergeant. He wanted to finish him off. Their guns drawn at his body and no help in sight, Gurdeaux waited for the barrage of bullets to strike his body.

But shots then came from behind and the Tan soldier's helmet came off his head. His head made a quick jerk backwards and then went forward. His body crumpled to the ground. The group looked back and began firing at the chopper where the shot had come from. Sparks came off the metal as the bullets ricocheted. The Tan men emptied all their cartridges and then looked back at Gurdeaux to make sure he hadn't moved or pulled out another weapon. Gurdeaux wasn't sure if they had killed whatever shot at them, but for now, he only cared about his own life.

Three Tan soldiers now stood in front of him and kept their guns drawn. Gurdeaux breathed in deep and said, "Go ahead." The Tan soldiers looked at each other as if wondering what do when one of them, the tallest, pulled away from the group and unclipped a radio from his belt. He walked about five yards from the bunch and began speaking into the radio. Gurdeaux could barely hear what words came from his mouth but he was able to read, "We've got him." As he talked, his eyes kept looking at the hovering chopper. Something was up and Gurdeaux hadn't a clue. There was more than met the eye about what had just took place and the Tan soldiers weren't about to inform their new prisoner.

The two Tan soldiers who stayed at his side were now getting itchy trigger fingers. Their sweat trickled down their noses and onto their guns. Gurdeaux continued to hone in on what was being discussed away from his ears. The Tan troop continued to talk into his black radio. With the insignia of a lieutenant on his right arm, he assumed that unless there was a sergeant around he was now in charge. Out of the group of men around him and from what he could see the chatter box held the highest ranking. Standing in front of Gurdeaux were two privates and the captain lay with his face pierced and ripped open with blood still gushing as it tried to circulate through his body. Squirts piled onto the stove top.

More words were coming out of the man's mouth. Gurdeaux began listening carefully and started to hear the conversation. "Sir, he's a sergeant," said the lieutenant. "…keep…as many…. alive…." The man on the other end must have been of high importance to be informed on the status of a captured prisoner. Gurdeaux wasn't a brilliant man by any means but he guessed that someone of a high ranking, maybe a chief, colonel or general, was about to come face to face with his battered body.

The Tan soldier walked back and looked at Gurdeaux. At first, he said nothing, trying to intimidate the captured Green solider. But after a few seconds where Gurdeaux said nothing, he opened his mouth. "You are one lucky man. We could've killed you painlessly and made things a lot better for you but now our commander will take care of you. Right now you should be wishing we had killed you." "Really?" Gurdeaux replied. "I bet your commander is a smart man and probably likes to torture captured soldiers, but let me tell you something. When I get my chance, I will kill you. I won't be fast and I won't be merciful. I will make you suffer as long as I have strength in my muscles and blood pumping in my veins. Believe me, when I get my chance, 

you'll wish you had died with these other men." The Tan soldier swallowed and walked away from the captured sergeant.

In all there were six Tan survivors, one being the lieutenant, and sixteen dead Tan lying around the stove top. Four had been jabbed with the bayonet or sliced, three had died from the grenade, and nine in total from bullets, two of them dying as Gurdeaux moved his gun left to right. Gurdeaux had won, but there was still the question of the second gunman who made an awesome head shot from so far away.

The shot definitely came from the downed chopper, but was it Doer or Dachun? Suddenly the lieutenant stepped back in front of Gurdeaux. He looked at his chest. "Sergeant Felix Anthony… Gurdeaux… the nemesis?" His voice sounded shocked. Though Gurdeaux couldn't see the three men behind him looked at one another.

"I can't believe it. We're going to get medals!" shouted the lieutenant. The other five men cheered and slapped each other's backs. They were absolutely happy at doing what had been done before. Gurdeaux had been captured four previous times, twice while in the Hork Forest, once in the Dirian and then a fourth time while clearing the streets of a town called Grosh, being kept in an attic with no food or water for two three days. He eventually made it out alive: he jumped out a window, rolled on the roof only to land on the car parked below in the driveway and was discovered by a little girl who poked him with a stick until a patrol unit discovered his haggard body. He had two broken ribs but recovered by the end of the week.

The sergeant was in disbelief at what had just happened. It had been five years since the attic incident and couldn't believe a bunch of ill-trained Tan morons had gotten him cornered.

He dropped to his butt and lay sat still. Speechless he looked back at the chopper and wondered if Dachun and Doer would make it out alive. The lieutenant saw his eyes glaring at the 

chopper and then hollered at two men to inspect it. The two ran off in search of the dead or wounded shooter. Hopefully Dachun would fight to the death if he wasn't already dead but nothing was certain.

The third chopper then moved ahead of the other two and turned off its blades. No one came out. A fourth and Fifth chopper then came from out of the corner of his right eye and landed in the same area as the other three. Several dozen men jumped out, some holding bags while others clung to rifles.

Gurdeaux sat on the stove and watched as the Tan soldiers cleared the area. Now there were maybe thirty soldiers cleaning up his mess. They had all arrived by choppers which came from all sorts of areas in the house, but now a bunch was heading back in bags. Gurdeaux wanted to see the mess that must have been or was being taken care of down below in the family room and backyard but his capturers wouldn't let him wander around. One stood behind him with a handgun perched on the top of his spine. The sergeant turned to face his guard and smiled. The Tan soldier gave no response as he kept his eyes targeted at Gurdeaux's face. When he looked back at the work in front of him, Gurdeaux could see men gulping and wiping away tears as they put together and lined up the bodies. The new helpers grabbed the rotting flesh of their comrades and put them away, zipping them into a temporary grave. The supply of black body bags never seemed to run out. Anyone who owned a company, whether manufacturing or distributing the bags, obviously was making a fortune. As Gurdeaux recalled over 220 million men had already died in the war, 78 of those being Tan.

Men dropped them into the choppers and the pilots took them away for identification, body detail and burial. Sixteen families were to be notified by early tomorrow morning that their 

sons or brothers or husbands had now become a statistic to the cause, but a tragedy to their loved ones.

Two Tan soldiers to every bag, they walked past Gurdeaux as they carried their dead comrades, giving him angry looks. He understood but knew that he could just as easily do the same to them for losing his men and others, including a colonel who had been a good friend. But as the granite counter became more visible, the moon started to let light breach through the window glass and rain down upon the busy soldiers, putting soft reflections into the once finely polished granite. Gurdeaux's helmet, still strapped to his chin, started to cast a shadow upon the debris that littered the counter and stove.

Before everything was clean, the helicopters' spinning blades began to break the dead silence and protrude into each man's ears. It felt as if it were coming fast as the sound pitched higher than usual and came behind the back of Gurdeaux. He couldn't peer at the flying chopper nor take a glance at the butcher block to see the activity happening there for the Tan soldier's legs blocked the sight of the kitchen's island and the sides. Then, Gurdeaux turned to his right and peered at the third chopper. A man with a colonel's hat stepped off the chopper. Other men jumped out and landed next to him. They were holding assault rifles and escorted the man as he walked closer to Gurdeaux. They were checking the cabinets and sink, along with the floor down below for any potential enemies that had slipped past security.

Gurdeaux sat up with the gun clinging to his neck's skin. He looked at the man who was walking toward him but to his left. He marched proudly and had a silver gun tucked into his holster. His arms swayed back and forth with clenched fists. No smile or happiness climbed onto his face as he passed Gurdeaux. He looked at him through the corner of his eye, getting a little glimpse of the man who had nearly taken out two squads in a matter of seconds single handedly.

His men, more like body guards, didn't bother to look at Gurdeaux as they followed their leader. When the commander reached the lieutenant, he shook his hand and began talking. Gurdeaux couldn't read their lips, but when both their sets of eyes glared over at him, he received the subtle message. In unison, the lieutenant, commander and his men walked over to Gurdeaux and stood in front of him. "Who are you?" asked the commander. His voice was soft and more welcoming than haunting as Gurdeaux had predicted. On his cap were crossed swords with a gold star at the apex in between them; he was a general. Gurdeaux didn't answer the man as he just watched him become infuriated with his silence. "Tell me your name," he demanded. From behind came a whack to Gurdeaux's kidney, sending him to his knees. The Tan soldier had hit him with the gun and caused a great amount of pain. But Gurdeaux picked himself back up and stood tall. "My name…. is on my jacket in case you couldn't read." Closing his eyes and opening them slightly, the general became mad and looked at the left side of Gurdeaux's shirt, just above his heart. "Sergeant Felix Anthony Gurdeaux. I've heard of you, as have many of my men and those who use to serve me," said the general, looking back at the rows of body bags that still lined the stove top element. "I am General Kaiz, and this is Lieutenant Callor," said Kaiz, opening his hand in front of the young soldier. Callor looked at Gurdeaux as Kaiz talked and never took his eyes off him.

"I am sure you are full aware of what happened hear in the past couple of hours, yes?" Kaiz said to Gurdeaux, walking past him and viewing the brightening scenery. He placed his hands behind his back and cupped them together as he stood straight and proud. Kaiz looked back at his men and nodded, signaling for them that it was safe to leave him alone with the Green soldier. They walked away but not willingly. Taking their time as their steps went towards the fridge and other Tan soldiers; they carefully watched Gurdeaux as he meandered over to the 

general. When he stood by Kaiz's side, Gurdeaux folded his arms in front of his chest and breathed in the fresh air.

The window to the right of the fireplace had been blown out and dead Green bodies lay underneath the table and on the couches. General Kaiz smiled at his accomplishment of defending his turf and was now preparing to brag about it in front of Gurdeaux. "Two days ago we set off on a mission to assault and hopefully capture Sector 7. It took a while but by staying rather stealth, our ground troops marched around and took the long route to the area. My whole house, 500,000 troops, went along for the ride. They were prepared and wanted Green blood. And by sending in our aircrafts at night minutes before we attacked, and by ambushing a small patrol unit, we were able to take the sector completely by surprise. But we were unsuccessful. We lost many men, over 22,000 to be exact, while your army only lost several hundred, approximately 350. I was mad, furious with my failed operation. So when I came back, I wanted to relax and take a moment to recuperate. But then your choppers had to attack my backyard. The anti-aircraft guns on the roof did take out one of your helicopters, but because we hadn't set up our forces at the back door, we weren't able to keep you from coming in. That and all my roof forces were blown apart, so no radio communication was sent out about your presence. Your comrades broke through our defenses and went as far as the stairs before my cavalry turned them back and destroyed their attempts at taking over this house. And then, to make sure things weren't to come to an end, more helicopters broke through the front window and tried to take my scientists away. They're alive but I can't say that for the 8,000 men who died from defending this place. Now I've lost almost everything I've worked so hard to attain and maintain, except the house. After all this chaos and destruction, I still have my house."

Gurdeaux kept his eyes looking outward and not at Kaiz. The general glanced down at his feet and then repositioned his stance. Turning to Gurdeaux he said, "Sergeant Gurdeaux?" He turned to face Kaiz. "Do you believe this war has become one of attrition?" Gurdeaux looked down to the corner of his and back to the top. Thinking for a second, he then brought his eyes back to Kaiz. "I believe it always has. When has it never been?" Kaiz chuckled a bit and then returned to facing the dark family room. Little lights illuminated down below the kitchen table, butcher block and around the fireplace. The ground crews were working hard at cleaning the place.

"I suppose it has never been a legitimate war," he said. "So why'd you start it?" Gurdeaux asked, now looking at the general's left cheek. Kaiz smiled and blinked rapidly for a moment. "I'll admit, General Sirus did order the bombing of many bases to start the war but at first it seemed logical. Strike now and start a war we can't lose. But after losing 220 million men, 172 million of them being my brothers, I am starting to realize that looks are deceiving no matter what you're promised."

"Maybe your army sucks," said Gurdeaux. Kaiz glared at him but shifted his face away shaking his head in disagreement. "General, what do you want with me?" questioned Gurdeaux. "I want to keep you, torture you and use you as an asset for a trade. I'll send you back to the Green Army if they give me want I want in return." "And that is what exactly?" "I want land," replied Kaiz. "I want turf for my feet and those of my men to stand on and use for defense so we can strengthen our hold in this war. Combat in our world has reached a stalemate but in this world, it's favoring you." "That's because we're better than you," Gurdeaux said. Kaiz turned to face the sergeant. He smiled and then looked back at his men. With his left hand, he waved to himself and off went two Tan soldiers. Gurdeaux watched as the men walked to the now silent 

chopper. Kaiz turned to face him and Gurdeaux did the same. "You're arrogance is obviously well-founded. You use it because you can. But you see Sergeant Gurdeaux I am not a pleasant man."

Turning to watch the two Tan soldiers again, Gurdeaux could now see them pulling out a Green soldier with one leg. It was Tyson and he looked nearly asleep. Gurdeaux's eyes fully opened and he closely watched the men bring him to Kaiz. Gurdeaux turned his whole body around to look at his man.

Tyson stood on his one foot as his arms roped around the necks of the Tan soldiers. He was brought in front of Gurdeaux's face where Tyson's eyes opened. Gurdeaux had tears building on his lower eyelids and wanted to touch the private, assure him he was now safe.

Kaiz took out a pistol and aimed it at Tyson's head. With a single shot, his forehead split open and parts of his brain went out the other side of his head. Blood spattered forward at Gurdeaux and ended up on his jacket. Drops of green blood came and landed on Kaiz's hand but he didn't care. Kaiz turned to face Gurdeaux and said, "Your army may be better than mine, but the fight continues." With the last word spoken, the Tan men let Tyson fall to the ground and walked away. "Bring us to the jeep!" yelled Kaiz.

The blades on the helicopter began spinning and picked up speed. Kaiz walked away with the two men and made his way toward to the chopper. Gurdeaux stood with his mouth partially open, speechless at what had just happened. Tyson's eyes were almost closed but with his head turned to the sink, they seemed to be looking at the light that came through the window. "Sergeant Gurdeaux, you come along with me now, or you'll end up like him!" screamed Kaiz. Gurdeaux walked away from his dead squad member and started to brush the blood off his 

uniform. He wanted to put a bullet in every part of Kaiz's body but had to wait for the right moment.

When Gurdeaux climbed into the chopper and sat on the bench next to Kaiz, the helicopter lifted up and started its journey to the stairs. As they flew over Tyson's body, Gurdeaux looked down to see Tan soldiers pillaging his uniform, taking whatever they could find in his pockets. They untied his boot and unbuttoned his shirt, ripping it from his chest and turning over his body to reveal a blood-stained undershirt with rips.

Now Gurdeaux was mad and ready for killing everyone around him. Kaiz still held the pistol in his hand kept it in his lap. The two other men aboard held their rifles close to their chests and watched Gurdeaux's movement. From his breathing to his blinking, everything he did was monitored and examined. Gurdeaux's face looked out to the kitchen window and witnessed the tiny faint orbs in the moonlit sky shine more rays of light at him. He became a brighter green and could be seen a mile away sitting in the chopper, waiting for whatever was to come to him.

Gurdeaux didn't know what to do at this point. If he jumped out he would surely break both his legs on the hardwood and be put down with a single bullet like Tyson. Tan soldiers loved prisoners but not when they needed medical attention, unless of course they were valuable.

Stretching his hand to his right ankle he scratched right above the boot, but felt the knife in place. It hadn't moved and was still snuggly put into its holder. He really wanted to make Jervaire happy. Gurdeaux could whip out the knife, slice Kaiz's throat open, lunge after the two body guards and with any luck, crash the helicopter. The newspapers would report the incident saying, "Green Soldier Gurdeaux Goes Down in Flames, Slicing Open Tan General Kaiz's Throat". Jervaire could read the headline and have a smirk, maybe even a laugh.

Gurdeaux looked at Kaiz after scratching his shin. He appeared to be a proud man, but possibly mentally ill. Never in Gurdeaux's military career had he seen a general execute a helpless soldier or any soldier, or even fire a gun. Generals were planners, not killers and this man was completely different from the pictured general of a weakening army. But for right now, Gurdeaux didn't care about why his capturer was a mad man or twisted. The only things he could think about were was about to happen to him, and if Dachun was still alive, along with the copilot, would they too meet the same fate as Tyson?


	13. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12: Driven, then Cut**

Kaiz's chopper landed on the floor next to the mocha-leather love seat. Parts of tanks, Green tanks, and guns with bullet casings could be seen all around, blanketing the hardwood floor. Gurdeaux checked each part of his surroundings and inhaled the smell of defeat. The stench, now fading back into regular air, brought back old memories. He could see the leather of the love seat cut and showing the stuffing inside. The thick round wooden legs which supported the soft structure sustained damage from the fighting. Chips of wood and cracks appeared on each of the four supports and made Gurdeaux see them as unstable and ready to give at any second.

All around were Tan men, in and out of uniform, cleaning the battleground. It was awful, just awful to see the sight of so many torn apart bodies. In front of the coffee table was a lone Green soldier. He had taken many rounds to the chest, with holes spreading along his torso and waist line, but still he did not look ravaged and grotesque. Plastic bodies were notorious for taking many bullets and still remaining intact and healthy. However, with guns like Gurdeaux's and the some of the Green Army's bullets went in, punching a solid hole into soldiers and put them down.

Kaiz and his two men walked out of the bird with Gurdeaux and brought him to a jeep that was parked behind the love seat. It fit four, but on the back stood a mounted turret for protection. One of the guards raced to the mg and loaded it, while the other hopped into of the one of the two backseats, placing his gun on the empty adjacent seat. Gurdeaux, being smart and assuming, opened the front passenger door and sat. While buckling his belt, Kaiz seated himself behind the steering wheel and locked in his seatbelt. Looking forward but stretching his hand 

backward to his guard, he opened his palm and keys fell into his hand. The jeep coughed as the engine started but quickly became a big purring cat.

Gurdeaux took this opportunity of the engine revving up to look behind his seat and glance at the guards. The helicopter ride didn't provide enough light for him to examine their bodies and their images were distorted from the smoke and dim lights atop the stove, but at this moment he saw everything. Both wore black books, dark Tan berets, and a black slash that went from their left shoulder and attached to their belt at the right hip. Their uniforms had rough patches of shades of green, cheap yet perfectly adapting camouflage. These two were Black Rangers, serious business. To kill them wasn't hard but making them surrender was no option. Tan commanders were notorious for instigating programs that brainwashed new recruits, making them into elite soldiers that performed the mission with tasks deemed insurmountable. For lack of better words, they were bad asses.

At first, the ride was bumpy: debris still lay on the ground and sent the wheels up and to the sides. However, within a few seconds, once they had past the coffee table, steered left of the kitchen table and then trekked along side the bar stools everything seemed smooth. "How do you like the scenery Sergeant Gurdeaux?" Kaiz asked him, keeping his attention at the road ahead. The jeep was heading towards the stairs and passing all sorts of things. Dead bodies, burning limbs, empty helmets and vehicle motors kept Gurdeaux's eyes away from the general. "Are you trying to impress me?" replied Gurdeaux.

The general smiled, pressing a little harder on the pedal beneath his feet. "No Sergeant Gurdeaux, I'm not trying to impress you. I'm simply showing you the futility of war, your war. I believe that war should never happen and that peace is always the best solution." Kaiz's voice could be heard even as they passed under the bar stools and through the noisy fired that engulfed 

the ruined tanks at the base of the pantry door. The helicopter that had crashed while pursuing Gurdeaux still lay, with pieces clinging to the gold handle above.

"It's not our war. I didn't start it. Malist is a patriot and would have never jeopardized his nation's people." "But he did let all those other soldiers die at GB 34 in the Grinn Desert some fifteen years ago, correct?" Kaiz was climbing up a slippery slope. Gurdeaux did not look at him, nor did he want to. The Tan general had just asked a question that should have never been spoken with the words he used.

"My superior escorted me out. I was the best at my base, a sergeant at the time, and he felt it necessary to get me out. It's true the others at the base died but I seem to recall even with your preemptive strike your men still haven't gained any ground, have they General Kaiz?"

Kaiz grinned. From the looks of it he appeared to be tearing but Gurdeaux took the benefit of the doubt and assumed because the cooling breeze that was hopping over the low windshield the general was beginning to have water swell at his eyes.

"You'd be surprised if you knew everything about the war in our world as I do, sergeant. I received a communication from my source that the Yuto Mountains are about to be completely in my nation's hands. You still have the Grinn and the Dirian, but when Tan forces swell into the Green Nation from the north, breaking off your entire navy's access to the northern ports, you won't think my men and I haven't gotten any ground. We'll flood into your cities like flies on a corpse." "It's funny you bring that up because I saw a lot of flies on the corpses at the stove a few minutes ago."

There are certain things people just don't say to men with guns, and Gurdeaux just said one of them. Kaiz banged the dashboard, startling the backseat passenger, making him grab his gun and go on full alert.

"You think this is funny?" asked Kaiz. He abruptly stopped the car, stomping on the brake peddle. The Black Ranger in the back nearly toppled over his turret with the sudden stop. "Because of your leaders, we've now lost more men than any other war between any combinations of nations, combined! I personally see this war as something moronic and stupid, wouldn't you agree?" Gurdeaux nodded, but still let his eyes stay on the working crews moving around the kitchen, fully ignoring the general's anger.

The Tan general than grabbed Gurdeaux by the top of his left shoulder and pulled him to the windshield, making his face turn to the left to view the staircase. "This is what happens when you let little peon brains control the fate of many. This is what happens when idiots like those in your nice dark green suits decide what's best."Kaiz looked at him for a brief moment before returning his eyes back to the disastrous scene. Gurdeaux could see the remains of the downed Tan helicopters, with ignited fuel and flames leaping onto the banister. He saw walls constructed atop many of the steps on both parts of the stairs, before and after the landing, that led to the second level. They had no missing parts of hanging Tan bodies on the sides. Only Green men lay dead and in odd positions as their hands stretched in the air and legs bent in impossible directions. More were at the higher steps than bottom. A hopeless charge may have been ordered, or perhaps an ambush had ensued as they made their way to the last series of walls. Their equipment, no longer beside them, had been placed on the floor and lay still. Gurdeaux assumed that this is where the Green soldiers had lost control and the battle.

'Your men didn't deserve to live as did mine," said Kaiz. "I've seen so many soldiers sent into battle for dumb operations and this was one of the worst." Gurdeaux shifted his attention to Kaiz's face. He looked him dead in the pupils, gently let go of the brake and with his 

right foot tapped the gas again. As the jeep went by the stairs and towards another corridor of the house, Gurdeaux couldn't help but think at how stupid the Tan general was sounding.

"How can you say that? I was able to get inside the house with twenty men, capture your scientists and no one knew until the evacuation forces came in. Your weapon won't be completed and we have your brilliant scientists in interrogation rooms as we speak, while other intelligence officers read their notes and ledgers of material and information. You lost, we won, and if something is stupid but works, it isn't stupid."

Kaiz's face straightened out and his eyes squinted. "You were the exception I suppose. But the rest, to think that they could take over my house and claim more territory, were preposterous. The idea of a couple thousand taking control of a place guarded by 500,000 is ridiculous."

"The idea wasn't to take the house but to make a distraction which obviously worked because you still can't see the point behind our operation." Gurdeaux was getting mad at the ignorance of this "superior" soldier. "Well maybe that's true, sergeant. But…"

As Kaiz kept talking, Gurdeaux turned to see the two men behind. They were up to nothing. The one who operated the turret was alert and watching for movement while the other in the backseat sat silent, probably listening to the discussion in front of him, watching the inanimate objects drive by him.

Gurdeaux tuned back into the general's words as he rounded up his spiel. "Maybe now you'll see why we have to do things the way we do them," finished Kaiz. "You complain about dumb men making mistakes and errors which cost the lives of hundreds of thousands of men, but you killed a semi-conscious wounded soldier from my squad. Why?" asked Gurdeaux.

The sergeant, the general and the two Black Rangers were now passing the stair case and entering the long corridor from whence the Tan helicopters Gurdeaux had seen, before going into the closet, had emerged. The walls on both sides of the jeep were white, as were the molding touching the hardwood floor. From what Gurdeaux could see there were two white doors, one on the left and of course one directly in front of him. On the right was a small fort made of LEGO, and included tents and drums of what looked to be fuel for vehicles and tanks. It stretched high into the sky, attempting to smack the ceiling above with its roof. The whole tower must have been three hundred feet it the air, maybe thirty stories inside. Small windows and fire escape made from black and tarred metal clung on the sides. At the base were guards, watching every rotation of the incoming vehicle's tires.

Closer and closer Kaiz drove to the centered door. Matching that of a sky scraper it was almost a portal in itself, being portrayed like a gateway to a new secret. This secret, lying behind whatever substance the door was made out of, was to be revealed soon unless Kaiz ruthlessly killed Gurdeaux like he did with Tyson.

The second door was now passing by them on the left. It was white like the others but there were no outposts near it. Kaiz's look became one of a puzzled man who had been asked a philosophical question of unimaginable degree. His right arm let go of the wheel and moved his hat aside to the left part of his head, allowing his hand to freely scratch his scalp. After the door came a Tan defense system, tucked in a small narrow hallway leading to a third white door. It couldn't be see until the jeep had passed the unprotected hallway and come to a somewhat fork in the road. The jeep was coming up close to the garage door and there was no safe escape for Gurdeaux at this point.

Coming closer into view was the garage's outside perimeter defenses. This Tan fortress was made up of barbed wire, sandbags and walls. On top of the corners of the LEGO walls were guard towers. Each had a machine gun and a spotlight and a man operating in the booth. In front, the barbed wire stretched to the other wall, making a stopping point for anyone who wished to pass. The hallway had now come to a three-way intersection. The "T" shaped road made Gurdeaux start to wonder even more about where he was going. To the left looked to be another bedroom, in front stood the garage door he had previously seen the Tan forces come through before he took hold of the scientists and to the right was a second Tan stronghold. Everything, except the colors of the blocks used, looked the exactly the same.

Down the middle path of Kaiz's garage protection was nothing: no debris or obstacles to go over. It had been cleared for easy access and all Kaiz had to do was give the signal to drive through.

Tan soldiers on both sides watched as the general began steering the jeep forward to the garage door. He didn't go fast as before, maybe to let Gurdeaux get the feeling of being trapped inside the house. General Kaiz looked straight ahead and didn't seem to want to view anywhere else. Two men stationed at the door looked on as their commander came at them with other men. Marching in unison, they went to the side of the door and stood beside a keypad.

Gurdeaux felt the jeep slow down as he came closer to the door. He started to think if he could get a hold of Kaiz's pistol, he'd shoot him and then the two guards, jump behind the steering wheel and drive back to the front door where he could escape. Or, he could grab his pistol, wound Kaiz and kill the two guards and using Kaiz as a body shield, then get back to GB 14 by threatening to kill the general.

But before he could even get another look at where Kaiz had placed his pistol, the jeep came to a complete stop and the two guards jumped out. They walked to the two other soldiers and touched buttons on the keypad. Kaiz let the jeep run as he waited for the two to get back in. Once the two guards got back to their positions, one of the two soldiers at the door tapped a small horizontal button and the door began creeping open.

"Sergeant Gurdeaux, I may see this war as unnecessary but I see my duty as my life. If I didn't take such care for my obligations as I do now, I wouldn't be alive today." "If you took more care in your duties you might actually be a good commander," said Gurdeaux, facing the garage door. Gurdeaux turned to look at him and saw his furious stare. Bringing his eyes back to face the front, he watched the blackness grew between the door and the door frame. "I want to show you something Sergeant Gurdeaux, and I hope you get the message." Pushing down on the gas, the jeep rolled forward and at the door. Only drive fifty feet lay between Gurdeaux and the mystery behind the white barrier. He was about to find out what was to become of him.

Now opened enough for a tank to slide through, the door stayed cut open, inviting anyone who dared to enter its enigmatic space. Gurdeaux, though seeming calm, felt his heart beat against his chest and pounce over his ribs. He wasn't scared of dying, now that he had seen the relentlessness of his capturer, but intimidated by what could lie behind this white shield and make him die.

Kaiz put his foot back on the gas. A jolt of the jeep came and the four were off again, traveling at a safe and slow speed to the door. The jeep came close as it turned right, narrowly hitting the edges. Gurdeaux could see the door was a solid, metal core door. It was incredibly up close, so much so that the sergeant could almost see his face as the jeep raced by.

With each step the jeep came to the door Gurdeaux could see more of the interior of the garage. He could see the ceiling and a single lit light bulb hanging from the top. Screwed into the ceiling, it shined bright and illuminated into the hallway. Still standing at the door, the two Tan soldiers watched as their commander and their comrades passed by them and into the abyss.

Nothing could be seen. Absolutely nothing was in Gurdeaux's sight except for cardboard that formed a giant wall which towered over the general's jeep, nearly reaching the top of the garage. It stood hiding what was taking place inside the safe room but now its secrecy was to be revealed.

Noise broke the awkward silence. Flying helicopters with whirling blades, marching troops and rolling tanks sounded off, maybe in drills or just in formation or realignment.

When Kaiz's jeep passed the door and went onto a wooden platform that ended at the base of the cardboard, Gurdeaux assumed that the car would stop and the men would jump out, walk down a flight of steps and see what the general wanted to showcase. Instead, once they were under the garage's ceiling, they banked to the left, turning forcefully. The man operating the turret swayed to his right and almost fell out of the jeep as the general yanked down on the steering wheel. Kaiz was riding along another thin stretch of plywood, dipping towards the cement floor. The ramp wasn't steep but still Gurdeaux had to press his feet against the floor to keep his body from slouching to the dashboard.

In front of Gurdeaux's eyes was still nothing, except for the corner of the garage. It was unfinished and had cabinets lined up on both sides. Noises started to echo toward him and soon, men's voices over megaphones and intercoms could be heard. They sounded orderly, designating certain things to desired spots or positions. The jeep kept going to the corner and the cardboard 

wall kept lengthening. Gurdeaux wanted to see what lay behind the wall but had to be patient; Kaiz maintained a rather slow speed as he drove.

But when the wall ended and the four reached the corner, the jeep turned right and suddenly, Gurdeaux saw everything. Helicopters of all sorts were flying atop the buildings that lay constructed along the area of the garage floor, and soldiers below were standing, walking, running and driving vehicles everywhere. Choppers zoomed past the jeep, flying just several dozen feet above their heads. When they landed on the helipads atop tall buildings, they dropped off and picked up loads of supplies and men. To each possible spot in the garage the helis ventured, whether on the concrete floor or on the tool bench or shelf against the walls.

Across from Gurdeaux were an old fridge and a tool bench with drawers and tools clinging to the hooks scattered across the multi-hole board drilled in the garage wall. Barbed wire was everywhere, surrounding the contents on the shelves and shielding whatever lay far from the sergeant's eyes. On the tool bench, which sat next to the cardboard, were guard towers, using their spotlights to search the dark corners and alleys between the walls and garage objects. Tanks rolled past and came close to the general as he reached the cold grey concrete floor. His jeep hit hard, sending the man in the back seat up and closer to the empty seat next to him. Gurdeaux gazed at everything he could see.

In each section of the garage was a building, extending into the air while casting shadows on the grunts below. They stretched as high as maybe a hundred stories. They didn't have much protection or fortification on the outside structure but there were many men around the colossuses. The sergeant could only imagine how many LEGO bricks it took to construct those monsters. Tents and tables with chairs were pitched up around every inch of the tallest structures. Gurdeaux guessed they were all barracks, housing thousands of men. In all there must have been 

twenty of them, perched on the cement floor looking out towards the magnificent view that was Kaiz's garage.

Landing pads stood straight in the air as choppers landed and lifted off from them. They were spread out, covering each inch of the garage. Put on toothpick shaped towers the helipads looked vulnerable and easy to foil. Ladders and stairs, going from the pad down to the cold cement floor were thin and appeared to easily snap if too many men climbed at once.

Buildings that made skyscrapers look obsolete were standing in the far back, next to the garage door on Gurdeaux's left. On his right, the door he had come through closed and faded behind the cardboard as the jeep drove further away. This garage was huge and offered a lot of ground for training, building and defense. Kaiz had found a way to keep nearly an entire army inside the house without the Green Army knowing about it, to some extent.

The middle of the garage had buildings. Short but wide; Gurdeaux guessed they were the headquarters and supply shops for the men. Kaiz didn't turn to check on things or look at the activity that was taking place around him. He kept his eyes focused on what came at him. His demeanor had suddenly changed. Relaxed and less tense, his arms and legs seemed more at ease and made him more comfortable. Probably the idea that Gurdeaux was now surrounded by thousands of men and weapons gave him the feeling that his prisoner was getting the message.

Continuing through the garage, the jeep went by halftracks that sat under tents. Piles of sandbags and machine guns lined the cardboard, facing the garage door and pointing up as if anticipating an aerial attack. Gurdeaux couldn't see any men behind the guns but saw stairs attached to the cardboard that led upward and to the sides, stretching for what appeared to be miles. When he gazed above, following the steps of the stairs to see what they led to, he could 

see mounted turrets atop metal platforms, with squads waiting for enemy forces, standing above the old, worn out fridge. It was beige and had cracks running up and down the doors.

A fleet of tanks then rolled in front of the jeep. Although a safe distance away, they passed down the center of the garage and nearly separated the entire area in two. At least thirty of them went by, followed by six or seven howitzers with men piled on top. Gurdeaux was starting to get the message and didn't like it. He turned to Kaiz, but was caught off-guard by a chopper that flew dangerously overhead. When the roar faded, he put his eyes back on the general. "I think I understand now," he said. Kaiz faced the sergeant and smiled.

Several more seconds past as the jeep made its way to a building made up of wood that stood in front of a series of short shacks and left of the tool bench. It had few windows but many soldiers guarding outside and on top; a still chopper sat on the roof with blinking lights. The men stood motionless and silent, waiting for their general to arrive. In the front and to the left sat tanks. Many men surrounded them and were carrying on conversations as the jeep came closer. Some didn't bother to look at Kaiz, but those who did were treated.

They eyed Gurdeaux and watched him look at them. Cheers started coming out of the small crowds as the jeep pulled up to the front door and stopped. Kaiz was the first to get out, followed by Gurdeaux and the others. Before Gurdeaux could take two steps from the jeep a call rang out from the speaker system: "We got the bastard!"

Every moving object, living or made of metal, stopped. Roars of cheers went up, helmets tossed above heads and sweet chants of, "TAN TAN TAN!" or "Only the Tan can!" engulfed the garage. The sounds died down after ten seconds or so, and the activities of the men continued like normal.

Guarding the front were four Tan soldiers who wore TEG symbols upon their shoulders. Saluting the general, they tried their best not to smile, but when Gurdeaux trekked past them, they couldn't help themselves. Marching as a group, the general, the sergeant and the Black Rangers made their way to the front door, which opened with the help of one of the guards. It was lit up inside but again, Gurdeaux didn't know what to expect.

Yellow and fresh, the interior of the building looked new and made the calming, happy feeling emerge in all of them. Though still worried, Gurdeaux somehow started to relax. Perhaps subconsciously he was in a good mood, which made him start to worry less, but still, he was now at the mercy of the general. As Kaiz walked in, Gurdeaux listened to the noises of the marching men, rolling tanks, flying choppers and screaming voices. He didn't get a good look at everything, but hoped to, whether through peace or violence.

Guards were at the end of the hallway, chatting about things Gurdeaux didn't care about. The doors all had the same gold-painted knobs and filth. No signs posted on any door and no windows at their tops, Gurdeaux had no idea what could possibly be inside these closed doors, let alone being planned.

Kaiz led him and the men up stairs to another hallway. The steps creaked as they stepped on them, bending the wood and cracking splinters. Gurdeaux's dirty boots brought in dust and crap of all kinds. Hitting the floor below the stairs, Gurdeaux could hear the pieces of debris fall off his heels. He looked down to check what was coming off of his feet but quickly decided to not be bothered by insignificant little objects. There were no doors or windows throughout the entire length of the long and narrow hallway, except at the very end.

A few lights above let the path become visible. Other than the dim lights bulbs, there was no life. No guards were standing at the door. This wing of the building was meant for secrecy 

and assumed to have no need for protection. Something, that wasn't in Gurdeaux's favor, was going to occur.

When Kaiz reached the door and began turning the knob, Gurdeaux started to sweat. Everyone suspected him as a brave, fearless individual who could withstand any pain or torment, or survive any kind of weapon that came his way. In reality, he was as normal as any other private or corporal who had served under him. Although experienced and witness to tons of amounts of carnage and indescribable events, when led into a room by a general or enemy soldier he was as sacred as a trapped child.

The door squealed open and in walked the bunch. Only one light hung from the ceiling above a table with two chairs facing each other. Everything was metal. Made up of grey concrete, the room had dark corners and cold air. Chills raced down Kaiz's spine as he started to rub his hands together. On the table sat a shiny knife. Serrated and sharp, the knife sent a very bad vibe to Gurdeaux.

When all four had walked in, one of the guards closed the door and stood in front of it. When the second Ranger took the opposite wall they both swung their rifles around their necks and placed them against the concrete walls. Though out of theirs hands, they leaned close by. The table was about five feet away from the door, making the room about twelve feet by twelve feet. It was small and gave an unpleasant "not-welcomed" attitude. Kaiz pulled up on the seats and sat down. Picking up the knife and picking at the end of his index finger with the tip of the blade, he sighed. He moved it up to his nail and flung dirt out from underneath. "Sit down Sergeant Gurdeaux. I insist." His voice didn't please Gurdeaux nor make him relaxed. Any idea of leaving this room with all his body parts of unscarred was now thrown out the window and 

replaced with images of his veins and limbs leaking blood and his body lying over puddles of his own green goo.

Gurdeaux didn't move. He stood in under the top of the doorframe, sweating more profusely than before. The second guard walked away from his position, stood behind the vacant chair and pulled it away from the table. Slamming it into the concrete floor, Gurdeaux jumped slightly and blinked rapidly. "Sergeant Gurdeaux, please sit," said Kaiz. Gurdeaux wasn't as eager as would any soldier be in his position, but walked over and grabbed the chair delicately from the guard. He backed away but then made his way around the table to the stand behind the chair-less side, left of Gurdeaux. Gurdeaux sat with his legs spread apart and his arms in his lap. Looking at the general, he waited for the new speech to be born from his mouth. His back was hunched as he leaned slightly forward over the edge of the metal table.

Kaiz still held the knife against his finger and began twirling the blade around, holding the handle with his palm as it dug a little into his tan skin. "Sergeant Gurdeaux," began Kaiz, "I am not your friend. I am not your interest or someone for business. I am your enemy, and above all, a soldier. You and I have something in common: we both fight. We fight, we kill and we die; we are soldiers. Although we do it for different causes and reasons, if any, we still perform our duties." Gurdeaux listened to his words. No other sounds could be heard in the room. Both the Rangers' breathing was quiet.

"You and your men came into my territory, killed my men, escaped with my scientists and made my house into nothing but a floor of dead bodies, crashed helicopters and broken glass!" Kaiz's voice was beginning to rise and become angry. He glanced down at the knife and held it straight up in his right hand. With the blade pointing up, he slammed it into metal table, making the room echo with the noise. A thunderous explosion came from the contact of the 

handle of the knife with the table. Echoes bounced off the silent walls and alarmed the guards, making them flinch and choke. Gurdeaux flinched in his metal chair. His heels kicked up and his hands hit each other as they went into the air, nearly over the edge of the table. Kaiz wore a smile on his face after seeing the sergeant move from his action.

"Hold out your hands, Sergeant Gurdeaux," said General Kaiz. Gurdeaux looked at him in a puzzled face. "Hold them out!" Kaiz yelled. The veins in his neck popped out and stretched from his jaw to the top of uniform. Shaking and confused, Gurdeaux stretched his hands forward. Gurdeaux's wrists trembled and his fingers made waving shadows atop the table. They inched closer to the general and hung in the air. "Lay those on the table please…." Kaiz ordered Gurdeaux. Rather than make a man with a knife any angrier, Gurdeaux did as he was told and let his Green skin touch the cold metal.

Kaiz looked at them, examined them even, as Gurdeaux sweated. "They've seen a lot of action, haven't they?" Gurdeaux nodded but kept his eyes on the knife. His breath became louder, more frantic as scary thoughts entered his mind. With the light from above, the blade glistened and appeared to be unnatural with its brightness. The luminous body came and went as Kaiz started to rotate the knife in his hand. But when he had checked out Gurdeaux's hands for all they had to offer, he stopped moving.

With his eyes locked onto Gurdeaux's Kaiz sent the tip of the knife at Gurdeaux's left hand. They watched each other as the tip came closer. Gurdeaux's head started to shake; wiggling his neck a bit and making his eyes blink at a large rate. Kaiz brought the knife to his wrist and let the tip dig into the skin.

As it went a little bit into Gurdeaux's wrist, Gurdeaux let out a faint cry of pain. He kept watching Kaiz however, not daring to look at his new wound in the works. Kaiz glanced down 

and opened his mouth. His forefinger and thumb were guiding the blade as it cut through the thin shield of skin. "You see Sergeant Gurdeaux, I am not one to make mad." Kaiz grinned and moved the knife to the other side of Gurdeaux's wrist, running over the vein but not slicing it open. "I am someone who does not take prisoners, nor wish to be one. I would rather see all my foes die in front of my eyes than let one slip away unscathed." The blade now began going up to Gurdeaux's elbow. Turning his head to view the guard, he saw no expression from his face and turned to face Kaiz again. He couldn't dare see his new cuts. Gurdeaux now had his eyes watering and mouth open, inhaling the room's air.

"When you are in so much pain that you will wish to have not been born, I will not kill you. When you have cried a river of tears from the torture that is about to be brought upon you, I will not end your torment. I will show no mercy. I will do far worst than anyone else in the history of this war." Kaiz stopped digging into Gurdeaux's flesh and pulled out the blade.

Gurdeaux looked at his wrist, putting his hand underneath and squeezed the circumference of his appendage to put pressure on the bleeding. The vein had not been slit but the flesh had been carved. It was only a quarter of an inch deep, but the wound on the wrist alone stretched for almost half a foot. His elbow drizzled blood onto his filthy pants. He let a tear go and looked back at Kaiz.

"Your turn," he said. Kaiz held the knife by the top of the handle with his thumb and index finger in front of Gurdeaux's sweating face. Gurdeaux was absolutely puzzled. "I said it's… your… turn, Sergeant Gurdeaux."

Gurdeaux let his right hand clasp the handle and took it away from Kaiz. "Cut yourself, and make it deep," said the general. The sergeant couldn't believe what he was hearing. He examined his bleeding arm once again and looked at Kaiz one more time. As he did the two 

Rangers picked up their pistols from their belts and cocked back the barrels. Gurdeaux looked back at his left arm and brought the knife down. With that motion the pistols were put back in their belts.

Slowly Gurdeaux pressed the knife into his skin, starting a few inches below the elbow. He pushed the tip in slightly but with a sudden thrust an inch went in. He didn't plan on putting so much in but not he could at least pull some out. He began sliding the blade firmly through his flesh and down to the fingers. At first it took him a second and a squeal of pain to go several inches. After half a foot of cutting he coughed in pain, letting sweat drops plummet off his forehead and chin. Kaiz smiled with his twisted delight. Gurdeaux didn't know what was going on in his mind but it was gruesome.

BOOM! An explosion shook the room and Kaiz looked at his guard in confusion. Gurdeaux saw the general look away from him and saw his chance. Dust particles fell from the ceiling and gathered onto the berets of the Rangers. As they looked around the room, shifting their bodies away from the table Gurdeaux lunged and grabbed Kaiz's fist, pulled the general towards him over the table and jabbed the knife into his left shoulder, straight into the top of his lung. Kaiz began chocking on his own blood and grabbed his neck to stop the bleeding.

The guard to Gurdeaux's left than came at him, bringing back his arm to throw a punch. Gurdeaux leaned back in his chair and stopped on the two hind legs by having his knees hold him in place by pushing up from underneath the table. On the other side of the room the second Ranger by the door turned around to see what was happening and went for his handgun. As he brought it from out of his belt, it slipped through his palm. With both hands held out he tried to grab the flying object that he had now flung a yard in front of him. To no surprise the gun landed. Just as it did the sergeant threw the knife at the other Ranger's chest, hitting him dead 

center to the right of the heart. The man stumbled and kneeled down to the left of Gurdeaux. His pistol was still held in its holster. Gurdeaux reached for the pistol and once he had it in his right hand he kept his chair as it was but flung his hand and head to the other side of his body.

He aimed at the man at the door. The Ranger had barely moved from his position at the door but his face was visible. On the ground was his pistol, a TP 4, a twelve shot shooter. With no weapon in either hand, he looked at Gurdeaux and then at the pistol. Both his hands were at his side. His knees were awkwardly bent and his entire body seemed to be leaning forward.

Gurdeaux didn't want a threat and pulled the trigger twice. One bullet went through the man's eye, blowing out the back of his head. The second struck his neck, hitting the same vein as on the general.

Still on the ground the guard's legs flailed in agony as he tried desperately to pull the knife out from his body. He kept trying to break Gurdeaux's grip but was unsuccessful. Pointing the gun to his forehead, Gurdeaux fired one shot, and then a second, a third and more until the magazine ran out. The guard's face was no more, flying off and away into the unlit parts of the room. Atop his neck now stood the lower jaw, a row of teeth and a wounded tongue.

The sergeant removed the knife, lifting the Ranger's body several inches off the floor. He flopped back on his back, his arms gave way and he died. A puddle of tan blood was forming behind his lifeless figure. Looking at the general, Gurdeaux could see him trying to save his own life. He was spewing blood in his chair having leaned back from the table. He was slumped with his legs lazily spread under the table, hitting the legs. Gurdeaux got up and continued to hear thuds and rumbles. Soon machine guns went off and small explosions shook the room.

Kaiz was a mess, bleeding all over his freshly cleaned uniform. Gurdeaux walked to the other side of the table and kneeled before him. "You got two choices: live or die. Decide now." 

Staring deeply into Gurdeaux's eyes Kaiz opened his mouth and breathed heavily. "Get me out of here."

Gurdeaux clenched the knife and stabbed the general in both his arms. He then through the knife away and picked the general off the floor. Kaiz was in pain and screamed. Gurdeaux began to wonder if the men outside could hear through the commotion taking place in the garage. "What was that for?" "I don't trust you general and I'm not taking any chances. The less likely you are to use a weapon the safer I am."

Kaiz was bleeding all over Gurdeaux's neck but the sergeant could care less. He folded the general in half over his shoulders and placed his arms behind his kneecaps and collarbone. They had to move fast and through a vehicle, not by foot. Gurdeaux remembered the jeep parked outside and wondered if it remained where it was parked. He knew the dangers he faced driving through hundreds of thousands of men, fighting along side thousands of other men, in a barrage of explosions and bullets, escaping through whatever slits and openings were available, meanwhile carrying a precious payload that the Tan soldiers inside the garage would kill to keep. The only thing he didn't know was what exactly just happened outside.


	14. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13: Surprise**

"Give me some of that food," said one Tan soldier to a cook. The cook, already with his hands tied with other plates, grabbed a ladle and spooned a serving to the private. With a faint smile, he walked away and towards a table where his friends sat. Laughter filled the atmosphere of the gloomy garage. Somehow, these young men were making the most of the situation.

The private walked on over when to his left. His friends awaited his arrival, waiving for him to come to the open seat. He sat down and dumped the food tray atop the table. "They need better food here," he said to his comrades. Nodding in agreement the laughter restarted and the men rejoiced with jokes and stories.

But light began emerging at the garage door. All the men stood up and brought their rifles up to their chests. An alarming sight was unfolding before them and none knew what could possibly be occurring. Tan choppers stood in midair, hovering above the men below. The Tan soldier's table was the closest to the garage door, some ten yards or so away. He and his squad members could see everything unraveling. The scene was light blue, then completely white at the bottom of the garage door. The entire, massive wall was lifting off the ground and to the ceiling.

His mouth open and feet beginning to back away towards the opposite wall, the skinny private shook his guns. His hands were uneasy and his heart raced next to his lungs. He didn't understand what was happening. Everything from the Tan soldiers' training sounds to the radio voices went away.

Lengthy and heavy, the garage door slowly crept upward on its wheeled tracks. Inch by inch, the light became more visible and started to glow in the eyes of the confused men. Every single soldier stationed next to the door was now watching to see what would emerge from the light. Would some race in and attack? Was it a mechanical malfunction of the garage? Was it 

some jerk playing a prank? Nobody knew but waited for the answer. The squeaking of the wheels in the tracks above did not lighten the mood.

Now with the light as high as the soldier's helmet, the grey driveway came into view, glowing for a mere second and then becoming it's old, torn-up self. But there were tings moving about the driveway.

Green, plastic things were moving quickly, almost charging, at the poor soldier. They were black blotches of enigmas moving about in plain sight, covering almost every inch of the viewable driveway. He couldn't make out the face of the closest coming at him but became frightened. Not flinching or firing his weapon, the Tan soldier froze in anticipation as to how he would die.

Raising his rifle in the air, the Green soldier drew back his gun and then thrust it forward as his body came closer to the defenseless man. The bunt of the rifle contacted with the Tan soldier's lips and nose, striking on his left side and turning his head. Falling with both arms at his side, the Tan soldier caught only a glimpse of what else was coming his way before his eyesight became blanketed with darkness. He was knocked out and his comrades started discharging whole magazines.

After hitting the Tan soldier unconsciousness, the Green corporal continued onward to the middle of the garage. He passed sitting and standing, resting and alert Tan soldiers on both sides. Soon, his whole squad was coming in after him, with tanks and jeeps.

Bullets began screaming out from rifles and machine guns, from both sides. Tan forces didn't know where to shoot. A sea of moving green limbs was crawling into their base and the garage door was still climbing upward to reveal who else was at their house. What was once orderly, known and peaceful became confused. Guard posts and high Tan stations in the garage 

started to shoot mortar shells at the oncoming traffic of Green soldiers, hitting both the ground and rising garage door. Explosions erupted and balls of fire rained down on the running Green soldiers. Fiery debris caught their helmets and sleeves. Some flames were put out quickly, without a piece of plastic skin being hurt. Others were less fortunate and had their backsides get drenched in debris. A group of three Greens were then hit by a mortar shell, scattering in every angle. Six more went down after a tank shell landed in front of them.

Every single thud and boom sent shivers down their spines as most made their ways around the explosions and while some disappeared into dust and concrete. Holes began forming on the garage floor, small holes the size of soccer balls, sending tanks jumping as they rolled over them, hoping to reach their targets before they were too made into holes and chunks of nothing.

The garage door was now higher than the workbench and roaring sounds came filtering in. Choppers with turrets, cannons, missiles, paratroopers and winches were now cramming into the littler space. Most veered to the right to focus on ground troops, but some stayed straight while a few went to the left to strike the buildings. A GPH 5 went to the left side and stared directly at the old fridge in the corner. It fired two missiles as it opened its back hatch. Both rockets hit the cardboard walls enclosing the ramp Kaiz had used to travel to his torture house. A large square fell down on a tank. It surely didn't destroy it but definitely slowed its movement. Fifty one men, the one being the platoon leader then jumped out of the GPH 5 as it went deeper into the garage and opened their parachutes only a yard after jumping away from the bird. Their chutes opened without problems and they all gracefully floated down to the floor.

Once landing the platoon leader unhooked his chute's backpack. The chutes were small, approximately twenty feet in diameter, and because of their light bodies the Green soldiers landed at a safe speed.

"Let's go!" he ordered. The men followed him, getting joined by two tanks and a bunch of troops next to the tracks and wheels. They all went straight, firing bullets at anything of a different color. One, two and then three went down. The tanks couldn't stop and rolled over one of the dead soldiers. "Faster!" the platoon leader ordered.

From a distance of about five hundred feet away a Tan chopper, a TAC 99, hovered in midair, trying to find a target to annihilate. It spotted a group of fifty or so moving Green soldiers, accompanied by two tanks. The pilot used his left joystick to target the group with a red square in his window. Attack choppers on both nations were equipped with highly sophisticated technology that allowed the pilots to see everything normally and previously on a screen on the glass in front of them.

The square locked on and off went two a missile. Still trekking along the left side of the garage and next to the small shacks the platoon leader saw a white streak growing. "MISSILE! COVER!" he yelled. Incoming was the heated tube of death and all the men either ducked under the lower shelves of the shacks or behind the tanks. The missile shifted its path leftward and up and away went the tank, its inhabitants and a few unlucky troops behind its left track.

A fire burst behind the platoon leader and most of his men. He had leaped forward to try to dodge any explosion from the missile. The tank's upper half came off and hit the second shelf, making it catch a fire. The men disappeared in the flames and when the fireballs vanished, all that was left were two big puddles of Green slime.

The Tan pilot saw more survivors, made a second lock on and fired. As it came at the platoon leader he couldn't help but wonder what he had done wrong. He had jumped out at the right spot with his fifty men. Gathered with others and better yet, got grouped with two tanks. He and his men didn't make it more than a hundred feet before all dying. To him it wasn't fair; to the pilot it was another story to tell his friends.

Within seconds the garage became a cluster of dead men and blown off limbs. LEGO bricks and wood flew towards the ceiling as explosions from missiles and grenades pummeled the fortresses constructed in the room. This time, there was no escape for the Tan troops. With Green forces on foot and their choppers now being destroyed on the launching pads, there was no way to get out.

Six dozen Green helicopters either went in or stayed outside, waiting for the injured to be brought for evacuation. Launching missiles, turret rounds and paratroopers the Green Air Force was doing its job, killing the enemy and destroying whatever obstacle lay its path.

Five missiles were fired at once from five different sources, all being Green, and hit the third largest barracks in the garage. The right side came off like a cookie dunked too much in a glass of milk. The LEGO pieces were shed from the side and landed on the tanks and Tan troops below. The walls above began to crumble a bit but the tower did not fall. A couple Tan soldiers fell out and landed painfully on other soldiers, killing their comrades instead.

More missiles were fired and again the tower was hit at the same level. Instead the entire left side came apart, not at first, but eventually let to the upper thirty stories to fall on top of the bottom forty. At least six or seven stories had been taken out. The impact from the upper thirty did not start a pancake fall as most buildings were accustomed too but instead stayed still like an impaled grunt.

The base of the tower started to give way from the sudden impact above and LEGO pieces shot out of their positions. Weakened, the tower started to lean to the right, the sight of most of the damage, and came crashing down on some hundred or so tanks, halftracks and soldiers under hangars and tents placed to the right of the garage along the wall. Though most of the building hit the ground, ten or so stories scraped the wall and broke apart, sending the trapped soldiers inside flying everywhere.

Gurdeaux looked at his wound as more bangs shook the walls around him. With his right hand he grabbed his wrist and began applying pressure. His vein wasn't cut, but from his wrist up to his elbow a part of his flesh now lay partially cut open, spanning at least ten inches in total. Blooding wasn't flooding out or spilling on the floor. However, he needed medical attention soon. If no one stitched him up within the next hour, it could be his last memory of the war. His blood would become cold from the massive open wound he had sustained, which would make his body temperature lower until it was eighty-five degrees, the point at which a plastic body was officially dead. Plastic humans were normally one hundred degrees inside their bodies, but if they went up to one hundred and ten or down to eight-five the body could no longer function properly. Doctors called Legal Decay or ADS: Alive-Dead syndrome. The body would shut down while the host was still alive. Those who survived said they could feel their plastic organs fail and stop working. Gurdeaux's gash was rather large, not big enough to cause immediate concern, but within the hour he needed a doctor. And if the battle outside was what he though it was, an invasion, it could take him a long time to get out safely.

Turning to face Kaiz and then the guard next to the door, he saw that his Tan uniform now bloodstained and soaked. Kneeling on the ground by his head, juggling Kaiz above his, 

Gurdeaux ripped off part of the front of the soldier's jacket and wrapped it around his arm. He did so again twice more before becoming less nervous. His wound was now concealed and the blood began to drizzle less as the cloth strangled his flesh from bleeding. After that he took the second pistol lodged on the Ranger's belt and brought it to his chest.

Gurdeaux looked at his bandage and heard Kaiz's voice once again; he was chuckling. "Why don't you give me some medical attention?" Turning his head to face the ugly face that spewed the awful breath Gurdeaux responded to the general. "Because I don't like you."

He turned the knob gently to not draw attention: the sudden chaos would for sure, at least with good training, make Tan soldiers come up to inform the general. Gurdeaux creaked the door open just enough so his hand could fit in the tiny slit. With the handgun drawn to his face in front of his cheek, he slowly turned around the door and looked down the hall: no one was at the stairs.

Gurdeaux burst out of the room pushing the door wide open. His feet splashed Tan blood along the hallway floor and walls. He let his left arm stay around Kaiz's kneecaps and kept the pistol in his hand as his right arm swung around in the wind. His arm was pumping harder and harder as he came to the stairwell. Hunched like a deformed child Gurdeaux made strides for the stairs from whence they had previously gone up. It had three parts and led back to the front door that was almost directly aligned with the hallway he was in.

When he walked onto the first step, he started to hear voices below. Gurdeaux slowed his pace and crouched, keeping his shoulder against the wall. Once at the end of the second flight of stairs, almost touching the second landing, he peered around the corner, making sure his feet weren't visible on the landing.

Down the corridor were four Tan soldiers, taking aim and protection from the enemy fire, in the door frame. One appeared wounded in the leg and was bleeding on the floor and over his comrade's foot as he held his gun to his chest. Things had calmed down, at least in Gurdeaux's area; bombs and gunfire couldn't be heard.

Gurdeaux backed up and gently laid Kaiz down on the steps. "I doubt you'll say anything to draw attention." "What makes you so certain?" asked Kaiz, now talking in a low and worn out voice. Blood was leaking out of his mouth and down his chin. Gurdeaux then brought his arm up and elbowed the general in the left temple. "That's why," he said.

Breathing in a deep breath, Gurdeaux lunged from around the wall and down the last set of steps, landing on one foot. His heart was now pounding fast with his legs. As he ran to the unknowing men, he cocked back the hammer on the silver pistol.

Gurdeaux sprinted ten steps, twenty and then more without giving away his surprise. But when he came within a few yards of the group, he halted to a walking speed. That was when the men started to fire at targets outside the building. They hadn't heard his steps on the hardwood floor behind them; the noise from the outside almost drowned their own words being said to one another. Bombs then sounded and shook the walls, making Gurdeaux nervous and touch the wall with his finger tips. The gun's nose nicked the yellow painted wood and made a significantly loud sound, but none of the men ahead turned around to look.

When the rumble died and the men stopped firing, Gurdeaux started walking towards them again and took them out. The one closest to him was standing and with the gun pressed against the back of his head, his brain blew out of his skull and out of the doorway onto the cement floor of the garage. The second soldier, standing to Gurdeaux's front-right, had his head turning slightly toward the sergeant when three bullets went into his chest, lodging into his lungs. 

He fell back, hitting his head against the wall and letting his legs kick up, tapping Gurdeaux's shins. Suddenly, one of the two crouched in front of Gurdeaux looked back to see him. Before getting his pistol aimed at the Tan man, Gurdeaux's gun was knocked out by the soldier's rifle's tip. Gurdeaux's right arm flung back and smacked the wall.

The rifle hit the wall, breaking some of the painted chips. Now angry, the Tan soldier gained his strength and lunged at Gurdeaux. The rifle missed Gurdeaux's nose but his eyes caught a glimpse of the fine detail in the bunt of the gun. There was a long scratch running the length of the rifle's end. It was lighter than the wood of the surrounding unscathed parts and looked as though caused by a small and fine point, like a nail.

Gurdeaux let out a punch and knocked the Tan soldier back a few feet, nearly sending him over his dead buddy. Aware of what was taking place, the last soldier got up and went after the Green soldier. Gurdeaux ducked to miss the second swing, bringing his hand to his shin. Grabbing the handle of the knife, he brought his body back to a tall height and his hand above his head. With a firm downward slam, the knife went into the soldier's helmet and out his cheek.

Gurdeaux took the knife out quickly but saw the blood now pouring out of the man's cheek and helmet. He collapsed to the ground with both arms on his face and at Gurdeaux's feet. His rifle landed on the sergeant's leg, and stood up for a brief second. However, there was still one enemy soldier remaining. He took a swing at Gurdeaux with his rifle and missed as the sergeant ducked. Gurdeaux swiveled on his right foot, turning forty-five degrees and ended up facing the right side of the Tan soldier and as he went forward, following through with his swing. The grunt continued to move, bringing his body past Gurdeaux's. The sergeant stopped to face the backside of the soldier. There Gurdeaux sent his knife upward into the soldier's back. He cried out and dropped his weapon upon the body of his fallen but wounded comrade. Planted 

deep into his body, the Tan soldier's breathing began to become congested and difficult to listen. Gurdeaux pulled out the knife and held it at his hip. Losing his balance, the Tan soldier fell back onto Gurdeaux's chest and hurt wrist, sending little shocks of pain.

Without rethinking an alternative way to get out, Gurdeaux brought his arm around the soldier's neck, letting him see his right wrist. The knife was covered in blood. Even the handle was starting to slip under Gurdeaux's fingers, but he held on firmly. Clenching the knife, Gurdeaux inched it closer to the soldier's neck and with a whip of his arm, sliced open his neck. Blood squirted up and forward, away from Gurdeaux but still landing on his jacket. The walls soon had Tan drops drizzling down to the floor and making stains. Landing on his knees with wide eyes, the Tan soldier stopped crying in pain and without any body support. He choked on the rushing blood filling his throat as his vein gush strands of blood across the hall. He then fell down on his face. His head was turned to the left, looking at the finely painted yellow walls. As he closed his eyes he put a picture of his wife, holding his newborn child, the one she had delivered without his presence the week after he had been shipped out a year and three months ago, and ceased to move. He was dead.

There was still one soldier left. As he lay whimpering in pain Gurdeaux viewed the open doorway. Fireballs erupted constantly and were beginning to alarm him. With his knife Gurdeaux raised the soldier up onto his feet by putting the blade under his chin. Tears rolled down his young cheeks. "Please don't. I have a girlfriend waiting for me, and my mom only has me. I'm all she's got!" "Relax son," Gurdeaux spoke, "you'll get to see your momma and get to take your girlfriend on another date. You're going home after this; I'll make sure of it. As long as you do me a favor you'll live." "What is it?" the Tan troop asked.

Escorting the troop to the stairwell he showed him Kaiz. "I don't get it," he said, clearing away his tears with his wrist and shirt sleeve. "I am tired of carrying this man and if you want to live you're going to need my trigger finger. Is there still a jeep parked outside?" "Yes sir." "I am not your superior, don't call ME SIR!" "I'm sorry…" More whimpers emerged and Gurdeaux realized he had gone too far. "Just carry him over to the jeep. I know you won't pull any funny stuff because I just save your life." As Gurdeaux spoke the chin gash began to bleed out more. "You need a doctor and I'm your ticket to him. What's your name? I can't read it from here." "Ickry, Eddy Ickry." "Ickry, you're going home. Now pick him up!"

Ickry put both his hands under the general and lifted his lifeless body off the steps. Gurdeaux had underestimated the short private's strength, admiring his ability to lift what he considered a heavy worthless sack of crap. Gurdeaux walked down the hall with Ickry and picked up his gun, handling it with his skilled fingers once more and put the knife in his left hand. They approached the doorway and locked their eyes on the sight outside.

Gurdeaux looked out to see the action between his comrades and his foes. Fire in the far back of the garage was now engulfing the floor. Some soldiers passed by the door, all of them Tan, but didn't notice the dead men lying on the ground. They were no more than twenty feet away, chasing their leader back to a secure spot. In the distance another building started to collapse. Fires were covering the entire roof. It was a towering inferno, enraging with the fuel of war.

Knowing time was an important factor, Gurdeaux quickly snapped his eyes to his surroundings. Looking to the far left, next to a small wall and set of barbed wire he saw the general's jeep. He jumped over the dead bodies and made his way out the building. He looked 

left and saw a whole mess of bodies fighting, shooting and dying. Looking to the right was the same painted picture, the only difference being the light shined over there.

Green soldiers were maiming the Tan, cutting them open and shooting off their limbs. Helicopters ran over Gurdeaux's head, making the ground tremble. Rotating to his front view, he could see tanks bulldozing over everything. Barbed wire, sand bags and even wounded soldiers, unable to get up and out of their ways, were steamrolled and made flat.

Checking his right, Gurdeaux could see Tan soldiers waiting, watching the movement of every living them in their sight. They were preparing for defense, anticipating an attack. Gurdeaux hadn't noticed when he arrived, mainly keeping attention paid at the glory of the amazing garage Kaiz had developed, but there were long walls surrounding this little compound that was Kaiz's butcher shop. "Wait here Ickry. You get out in the open you'll blow everything. Sit on the ground alongside the dead ones." Ickry nodded, backed up and slid his body down to the wood floor.

The sergeant returned his eyes back to the squads keeping his escape improbable, at least without another injury. Sitting behind the sand bags and at the edge of the building's brick, actual brick, walls was a ladder leading up to the roof. He suddenly remembered the possibility of a helipad above, and maybe a chopper ready for liftoff. There, he could signal for help or wait for an evacuation. But to do so, he'd have to take the Tan squad out.

A streak of white smoke then streaked above his head, coming from behind the roof's edge. It was an RPG or maybe a TTML, a Tan troop missile launcher, normally targeted at tanks for its low damage and extremely low accuracy, but now it was being fired at a Green helicopter. Gurdeaux followed the streak and watched the ball of explosives clip the tail of a Green chopper. As the impact sent a cloud of black smoke in the air, Gurdeaux knew what he had to do. The 

chopper started to lower and twirl, landing on its side and on top of a small building, perhaps a supply depot.

Gurdeaux walked to the right wall and began creeping to the unsuspecting men. There was about six in all, and all had either a rifle or machine gun. All were positioned in a line behind the bags and each was crouched, looking over and seeing the crisis at hand. Before he made his commitment to this bunch he checked behind him to make sure no one spotted him. The Tan forces on the left were already preoccupied with shooting at Green troops.

With another large boom in the distance, Gurdeaux maintained a steady walk as shadows crossed over his body. Helicopters were still flying above him, shooting down whatever they could. The shadows hid and then revealed him along the building's side but his secrecy lasted for the entire moment. Explosions were beginning to go off in each corner of the garage, shaking the ground Gurdeaux stood quietly on. He came closer as the Tan squad kept their focus at the sight in front of them.

After a few seconds of being silent, Gurdeaux had made it to within about twenty feet of their position and decided that was enough. Standing tall and walking normally, he held the knife out with the blade in his palm. He quenched the blade, feeling the jagged edges and blood sliver out of his grip.

With a quick and short hop, Gurdeaux began charging at the men and threw the knife. It hit one of the soldier's in the middle, landing in his neck and bringing his body squirming to the ground. Gurdeaux charged to the first soldier as he pointed his pistol straight towards the doomed soldier's face. One bullet was fired and struck the man's chest near the heart. The other four soldiers watched Gurdeaux and got up. Gurdeaux fired the next closest body, letting out three more bullets. As the bullets entered the soldier's chest, he fell backwards and brought the 

soldier behind him down to the bags. Gurdeaux fired the remaining shots at the other three. One was hit the head while the others received their tickets to death in their lungs and stomachs, the last getting the final two shots.

They too fell in the same fashion as most soldiers, freezing when shot and then falling with their limbs loose and uncontrollable. But Gurdeaux knew he was still in danger, even with five dead men around him. Having trouble removing his dead buddy from atop his body, the remaining Tan soldier looked at Gurdeaux. He raised his hands, surrendering to the sergeant. Gurdeaux looked at him but eyed the gun he had dropped. Picking it up with his right hand, Gurdeaux pointed it at him and fired every bullet in the assault rifle's magazine, missing his face completely. Flashes of yellow light sparked from the tip of the gun and bullets sent plastic everywhere.

"Get in the building and when I say so come out and help carry my prisoner with the other guy. GO!" The soldier dashed on his knees out from the sandbags and went straight into the wooden building. Gurdeaux couldn't believe he had followed his order.

His opponents defeated, Gurdeaux dropped the weapon and looked behind him. He saw the wooden wall and the ladder that reached the roof, bolted into the side of Kaiz little shop. The metal ladder had many steps but no rails to secure a person as they ascended. Gurdeaux knew that with his hurt wrist it would be difficult, but he also knew that it had to be done.

A massive explosion went off behind Gurdeaux. Flames of bright yellow, orange and red blocked any sight of the open garage door. Perhaps a bomb had hit an ammo bunker, but now was not the time to be distracted. Gurdeaux ducked a bit, still standing though, as the noise triggered his reflexes. He checked behind him to view the destruction and saw the silhouettes of 

men fighting and shooting each other. The flames made the light from the bulb disappear, marking the walls with numerous shadows from all sorts of things.

Gurdeaux ran to the ladder and grabbed the metal step. It was at his neck but there were several other steps closer to his knees. Hopping with both feet onto a single step, he began his ascension. Each step Gurdeaux took upward made him look down to see if anyone was coming for him. The bodies remained still and no other soldiers, Tan or Green, were even close to this spot. It worried him a little, thinking about if he'd ever get found, but for now he needed to focus on getting on the roof. He was out of sight for most of the Green troops, deep into the corner of the room. It'd be a while before he was reached by ground forces.

As Gurdeaux grabbed the steps with his good arm, blood dripped off the cloth. He saw that his shreds of cloth had become soaked and were now useless. Gurdeaux brought his arm closer to his stomach and continued climbing.

He grabbed a step, brought both feet up, and then with a fast stretch, grabbed another step to hold onto. Had he continued with his damaged arm his wound would only widen for plastic skin was not very tough, as the evidence also lay below him in piles with multiple holes. It took him nearly a minute to climb the ladder, but when he stood upright with both feet, he felt satisfied and worry-free.

But when glancing to see what lay on the roof, he saw an empty helipad, red lights and a lone Tan soldier, looking far away near the open action. He held a rocket launcher and was eyeing something towards the front right corner of the garage, next to the garage door. Having no weapon and no plan, Gurdeaux simply marched over to the soldier and tapped his shoulder. Startled and taken off guard, he turned around and looked up at Gurdeaux. The sergeant grabbed 

the middle of the rocket launcher and with his left foot, kicked the Tan soldier off the roof. Screaming and hurdling fast to the ground, he saw only the ceiling on his voyage to the ground.

Gurdeaux looked around to see if there was anything useful on the helipad, but there wasn't. The garage was now more than half way open and the sun's light was illuminating almost the whole floor and most of the three walls. Shots came at him, hitting the roof's safety edges. Gurdeaux rolled out of the way. They had come from below. The sergeant looked at his new toy and saw four rounds still attached on the rocket launcher. It was a TTML, easy to use and easy to kill with. One would simply take the one and a half foot long tube and load it deep into the hole in the back of the launcher so that it couldn't move anymore, aim through the scope on top and fire the trigger. The projectile would go forward from a tiny spark in the back that ignited the fuel to send it in the air. Much like a standard Green bazooka it was light and portable and well liked by Tan and, when found by Gurdeaux's men, Green soldiers.

The sergeant crept back up to the ledge and saw the group, aiming their rifles at his head. They fired again and missed. Thanks to the wounded troop below the launcher was already loaded. As Gurdeaux backed away a second time he placed his finger on the trigger. Leaning forward and with both hands handling the launcher, he pulled softly on the little metal piece and with a quick thrust the rocket was fired. His body jumped up as the rocket burst out. He didn't need to use the scope, just guess. It hit the center of the group, exploding into black smoke and destroying all the Tan troops.

Viewing the sky now Gurdeaux saw many Green choppers zooming around the opposite wall, firing missiles. But although the Tan choppers were outnumbered at the moment, having most blown up by the first wave of the invasion, they still roamed the air. Several were coming towards Gurdeaux, flying very close to the roof. Gurdeaux fell to the rooftop, landing hard on the 

wood and tar it was made of. The choppers went overhead and away. Gurdeaux could see they were flying to the wall where his comrades were.

Getting to his knees, he lifted the launcher and laid it on his right shoulder. His left hand went over the middle of the weapon and grabbed a rocket. Holding it still on his body Gurdeaux loaded in the new destroyer and set back to view the action in the air. The scope was blurry, and had eroded crosshairs, but Gurdeaux could make out the flying bodies of his enemy. A red dot stood in the center of the intersection. It wasn't electronic and didn't flash. Someone could have painted on the circle for all Gurdeaux knew. A Tan chopper flew across and went through the faded scope lines. Gurdeaux followed the chopper, having his sights ahead of the cockpit. No matter what the speed was of the missile it couldn't catch up to the racing chopper.

With a slow pull of his index finger, Gurdeaux fired the missile. It went fast and created enough force to knock him back. The missile was now making its way to the Tan helicopter. Inside the cockpit the Tan pilot and copilot heard the alarms and felt the heat from the glowing and flashing red lights. LOCKED ON, LOCKED ON read the control panel screen, centered between the two men. They didn't look out their sides to see where the incoming missile was and veered to the left, thinking it was coming from behind. As they did, the missile ducked with them, hit the underside and exploded. The heli continued to fall on its left side, but never regained its balance. It crashed on top of a Green tank.

Gurdeaux got to his knees to watch the Tan helicopter go down. Streaming through the now dust and ash filled air, a faint white smoke line followed but quickly evaporated after the missile hit its target. The missile impacted the tail of the chopper, blowing it completely off. In less than a second the entire body of the copter went behind the group of building, exploding on the cement behind a complex.

Taking in easy and calming breaths, Gurdeaux now felt good as his body came back to a standing stance. He looked around and saw more Green helicopters racing into the garage. Turning to his right, he saw hundreds of Green soldiers walking into the garage, some escorting tanks and jeeps. The battle seemed to be ending now and he couldn't have been more pleased. To his left some of the cardboard had caught fire, burned to ash and revealed the door to the inside of the house. Already open and covered with retreating Tan troops, the door was the last line of defense for Kaiz's men. The ramp could collapse at any second with the flooding Tan forces running and rolling in tanks across its thin sturdiness. Gurdeaux now acknowledged his army's new accomplishment: breaching and taking control of Sector 8.

Gurdeaux went back down the ladder and jumped to cement floor. He went back to the soldier he had hit with his knife, wiped it on his pant leg and walked into the building. He saw his three men. "Let's go he said." The two followed, carrying Kaiz by his shoulders and feet. He had bled considerably and wasn't going to make it unless Gurdeaux brought him to a chopper quickly and had an ivy or blood needle stuck into his veins. His lung was damaged and would take surgery to repair. Ickry looked calm and no longer in pain. Though his buddy still looked sweaty the two seemed compliant and thankful to be getting out. There was no way a soldier from either side would fire at them in a speeding jeep; it was too risky.

Gurdeaux led the two to the jeep where they both got in the back with their leader. He understood and didn't say a word. The jeep's keys were still in the ignition, again thanks to a Tan soldier. The sergeant started the engine with the knife in his lap. "We're getting out of here!" he yelled.

The jeep started moving and soon the wheels were turning at their maximum rate. Gurdeaux had punched the gas and was going at the highest speed: twenty miles an hour. He 

drove through some flaming debris as the light from the outside grew wider and taller. The faint chinks and cracks in the driveway were now becoming more visible as his body approached his freedom.

On the sides of his speeding vehicle were fighting men and tanks shooting rounds. The hand to hand combat was impressive. Several Green soldiers were on top of a single Tan grunt but as Gurdeaux came closer he saw all four of them gunned down from behind by a Tan soldier with a pistol. Gurdeaux thought to himself, "It's only fair."

But he grabbed his knife with his left hand when a lone Green troop was being pummeled by the fists of a Tan soldier. It wasn't far away and Gurdeaux could see the rage filling the Tan soldier's face. He backed away from the troop and picked up a shovel. Why a shovel was in the garage, Gurdeaux didn't know, but without thinking the sergeant leaned to his left and with a nice hand motion, cut right through the back of the Tan soldier's neck. He squirmed in disbelief and fell to the ground. Gurdeaux thought to himself, "It's only fair."

The light was now a large monster with an open mouth, and Gurdeaux and his bunch was about to be swallowed. But he didn't mind. Behind him he had left a pile of bodies, about a dozen or so, and probably one of the greatest and biggest battles ever in the New World.

He drove towards waving Green soldiers atop tanks but when passed them their hands came down and confused looks emerged. That he knew why. The light was now nothing of a dream as the sidewalk across the street came into view. The green grass of the front lawn crawled into Gurdeaux's vision and from the backseat came the words, "We made it."

When Gurdeaux drove out of the garage he had to meander around walking ad stationed troops on the driveway. They weren't moving fast enough for the sergeant and were most likely 

the second wave for the invasion. One drew a pistol and almost fired at the back of the jeep but a fellow grunt placed his hand on his arm and lowered the eager soldier's gun.

Gurdeaux made it through the brigades of men, winding past the tanks and halftracks that awaited deployment into the house. Sector 8 had now become part of the Green empire being established in this new frontier.

It wasn't long before drove the jeep into the grass. A neighboring Green troop came by and asked what the situation was. "I have three prisoners and two are wounded, one severely. I need a medical evacuation now. Send me any type or medevac chopper!" The grunt said he would get a copter on the ground in seconds. He walked away and told a man with a radio what needed to be done.

As the soldier was taking care of the escorting service Gurdeaux got out of the jeep, took the key out and put it on the dashboard for the next driver to find. It wasn't often you found a Tan jeep in the hands of Green soldier.

In the back the two Tan troops held their general, placing their hands under his chin and atop his lap and shoulder, comforting him. They spoke to him as he drifted away, in and out of consciousness, telling him he would make it and that he had survived.

"You two alright?" "Yes sir but General Kaiz needs help now or he's going to die. I think he's about to pass away." "What's your name?" said Gurdeaux, pointing to the unknown man. "My name is Vare, Corporal John Vare." "Vare, Ickry, he's going to die here or he's going to die on the chopper or he's going to die in the hands of my superiors, because I know for a fact they would love to see this son of a bitch burn for the atrocities he's committed."

"Why did you let us live and kill our friends?" asked Ickry. Struck by this new rare question Gurdeaux stood up straight and sighed. "I just did. I saw you cowering, no offense, at 

my feet with two holes in your face and I knew that I couldn't kill you the way you were." "But you killed Grinder by slicing his throat open. Why did he have to die?" "I had stabbed him in the lower part of his right lung, deep into his organ. Much like Kaiz here but only I went on top and through his left. I already had one injured soldier to protect; I couldn't take another to tag along. I probably penetrated both sides of his lung and instead of letting bleed out for five minutes I sliced his throat open. I'm sure his last thoughts were good ones."

With Gurdeaux finishing his last sentence the men understood. War wasn't simple and judgment had to be taken into account on almost every action. "War isn't clean and it isn't dirty. It's a crapshoot. No matter what you do it's all subjective. Nothing in war can be objective because you'll never know the whole story from every angle."

And with those final words a Green copter landed behind Gurdeaux. It sat on the driveway and Vare and Ickry looked up at their new ride. "When you get to the base tell them I said you're going home." Gurdeaux raised his right thumb and pointed it back to the copter. The two men vacated the vehicle and all that was left was Kaiz's bloodless body. Gurdeaux came up to him in the backseat and saw that his shirt pocket was open, only slightly, and had a piece of paper in it.

Kaiz opened his eyes, looked at Gurdeaux's pupils and nodded. Knowing what he meant Gurdeaux slowly reached for the paper and took it. Kaiz's neck collapsed onto the back of the seat cushion and there went the general. Gurdeaux knew his military history, some of it, and knew how much of an impact this would be to the Tan Army. This man, this ravaged man that sat before him, had done so much in the Hork Forest and in the Wasteland that books had already been printed about his achievements.

Gurdeaux bid farewell to this man and went for his ride. The cockpit faced him and as he saluted the pilots they waved back. Two Green soldiers went at the jeep and started brining Kaiz off the seat. He would most likely go into a separate chopper and be hoisted away to a nearby Green base.

The sergeant walked over to the helicopter and got in. On the side was a white circle with a red M in the center. Vare and Ickry were sitting comfortable across from one another on the other side. In all there were five men in the chopper. Ickry had already been given gauze and they were already soaking up the remaining blood that drooled from his wounds. Gurdeaux sat across from the doctor onboard and looked at him. The medic quickly came to his side and started removing the cloth from his arm.

Gurdeaux closed his eyes and started listening to the blades that made cool air come through his shirt. He listened to the sounds of gunfire and small explosions go off in the distance. His part of the battle was over and now he could rejoice back in a bed at a hospital wing.


	15. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14: Statistics**

Gurdeaux opened his eyes and saw bright white lights blinding him. He squinted and began rolling on his side. Underneath his body was soft material and under his head lay a pillow. After getting on his right side, he opened his eyes to their fullest and on his right saw a green man, bandaged with blood and puss stains on his white cloth. His bandages wrapped around his body, only leaving his leg and a part of his arm open to view.

Sitting up in his bed Gurdeaux looked around and looked down both ends of his hospital wing. On each side were filled cots, stretching for hundreds of feet in both directions. Each cot contained a wounded soldier. From what he could see, few had minor injuries. Most were quiet, probably sleeping, with bandages on them. Nurses and doctors were everywhere, but it was peaceful. The men in the wing were silent as they waited for their pain to gradually diminish and go away. Morphine was a wonderful drug, even when abused.

Behind most of the beds lay glass windows. The sun beamed opposite of Gurdeaux, letting him see his body in every detail. The wing's walls weren't yellow as they should have been, but light blue. With the sun glowing and the men wearing white, it was as if the wing had become the sky with injured clouds scattered about it.

Glancing down at his arm and wrist, Gurdeaux saw that his injury had healed a lot over night. There was no bandage around his wound: only stitches that had closed the slit. The regenerating powers of plastic men were amazing. Although the women's regenerating mechanisms operated at a slower, more docile and in the end, safer, manor, the men could get shot in the arm in the morning and have a small scar before they went to bed.

He moved his fingers and flexed his wrist. Everything checked out okay. With his right hand, he felt the stitches in his skin. They were deep and plentiful. From the bottom of his palm, to about half way to his elbow, lay a line of woven thread.

Gurdeaux didn't have to worry about the cuts he had given himself. If any vein or nerve had been damaged the body would repair itself. The stitches would fall off or melt away and everything about his system would normal by the time he ate dinner.

He picked his head up and checked the rest of his body. He was still in his pants from the battle and his jacket lay at the foot of his bed. Both his boots remained laced and tight around his feet, but incredibly dirty as well. Not knowing how his face looked, Gurdeaux began getting out of bed and looking for the nearest mirror. But feeling sore all over, he slowly got out and off his sheets. His quick jerk of his body to jump from his bed was halted with pain. The soreness had accumulated all over his body and was telling him to take it easy.

Blood and black smears had stained his once white undershirt. Cleaning it was no option: Gurdeaux was going to need a whole new uniform.

After he lifted himself from his mattress, Gurdeaux turned to his right, seeing double doors at the end. It was many steps away but still not far enough for the veteran.

As Gurdeaux took his first step a muffled moan crept from behind his right ear. The man with the bandages covering his torso and face was speaking. Though not translatable, Gurdeaux took a shot at his words. "Are you speaking to me?" the sergeant asked. The body nodded, lifting his head gently and barely off his pillow. "Ger…doo…" said the wounded soldier.

Gurdeaux looked back down the wing so see if any doctors or nurses were coming to this poor man's aid. All were busy and preoccupied with other wounds, most of them less severs.

The sergeant bent over after walking to the bedside. "What is soldier?" Gurdeaux spoke. Inhaling a deep, wheezing breath the man started to talk but in small quantities. "Sir…gent…Ger…doo…" he breathed once more, "You…sabe…my…lipe…"

Gurdeaux watched the man's eyes squint with each word passing through his throat. His obvious pain was complete torture. "I saved you life?" Gurdeaux asked the man. Another gentle nod caressed the top of his pillow. "How?"

"I…was…" another breath, "fy-ting…a Tan…when…you…drobe…by…and," another breath, "slip…hit…throw." Gurdeaux went back in his mind to recall the incident. He got the picture of driving the jeep with Kaiz by his side, hauling tail through the cement ground. He hit many Tan men, hitting them off the jeep's frame and sending their fractured bodies into barrels, bricks and LEGO pieces. One of the Tan soldiers he hit must have been performing hand-to-hand combat with this eventually unlucky Green soldier.

"But if I saved you from the Tan guy whom you were fighting with, how did you end up like this?" "A hella…copter…crashed next," another breath, "to me…and…I…was hit…by…a…flaming…piece…they…fond…me…un" another breath, "consis…"

That would fully explain the burns sustained by this poor man. Gurdeaux knew from experience how a burning man, no matter how engulfed or surrounded by flames, tried his dear best to escape the inferno.

"Hang in there. In less than a month your skin will be back 100. You'll run and jump and fight just like you did yesterday," said Gurdeaux. "It…hap…end…yes…day…"

Puzzled, Gurdeaux accepted what he heard. All the action happened yesterday, which Gurdeaux stayed over night in the hospital. The morning sun was what was illuminating the hospital wing.

With a small farewell Gurdeaux stood straight, feet together and saluted his comrade. Though handicapped the man would have definitely done the same. Gurdeaux turned away from the burned soldier and started walking past the remaining wounded men on his way to the exit.

As his legs moved, he began counting the rows of cots he passed, just for curiosity. While counting, he also looked at the men. Most were asleep and those who lied awake were receiving treatment from the medical personnel. The staff was so busy with the other severe injuries they practically saw Gurdeaux as invisible, letting him walk away to fight another battle.

The injuries sustained by the Green soldiers ranged from burns and cuts on limbs and the face, to stab wounds and amputations. Legs were blown off and arms appeared to have been ripped out. Gurdeaux could see the stab wounds on one man as he wore no bandages. One was visible on his cheek, while two more could be seen on his stomach. His shirt was missing and he only had underwear and socks on. He was asleep and bleeding. Although he may have known about the blood that was running down his face and onto his pillow, he probably didn't care anymore.

The amputees were of the most concern. While regeneration occurred in every single plastic person, the rates were not always the same. Sure the men did so at a faster rate but genetic anomalies could cause amputations to become permanent. There was no reversal to the imperfection. If one was born with the trait and lost a leg, the only way to compensate for the disaster was with a replacement: a wooden, metal or clear plastic appendage. Metal was the preferred choice amongst soldiers.

When Gurdeaux finally reached the double doors, he had ended up with forty-two. He had walked through forty-two rows of cots, with two on each side, and having begun midway 

through the wing, it meant that in this wing along were 1767 injured men, excluding him of course.

Although Gurdeaux knew that GB 14 had eight hospital wings, he couldn't imagine over 1,300 men were lying wounded in beds, waiting for medical treatment. And if so, there weren't enough doctors to save let alone help each single soldier.

Pressing his hand on the left door, Gurdeaux walked out of the wing and into the morning sunshine. He squinted again from the new amount of light but caught a glimpse of the action around him. On all sides of him were soldiers, walking in every direction with tools, guns and food. The fight from yesterday must have taken a heavy toll on all of them but war didn't stop for anyone. It was the only machine proven to keep going under any circumstances.

But as Gurdeaux stood out, catching the sunrays and becoming warmer with the radiating heat from above, the men who walked or marched by him took long looks at him. He, all of people, had survived but shouldn't have. These men may not have known the whole story at the time but Gurdeaux would have bet that they would have known the events surrounding his wounds. Gurdeaux's combat record was now one of the few things these young men were clinging on. His service and history was a legend that pounded away at their hearts and brains that drove them to keep moving.

"Sergeant Gurdeaux," said a voice to Gurdeaux's left. Turning and seeing Colonel Toole, Gurdeaux replied softly. "Yes sir?" "How are you?" I'm good sir," the sergeant answered. The men going by the two tried to listen to their conversation, but their constant and loud walking didn't help. Gurdeaux watched them but started to have a blurry vision as dust picked up from the marching feet.

"General Malist would like to speak with you at once. Follow me, if you would," Toole requested. Gurdeaux nodded and started to walk with the colonel. "I see you guys won yesterday," said Gurdeaux. "Yes we did win, at a cost. We lost more men then when we defended Sector 2 but still, it's all statistics. After a while, when so many men die, it doesn't become sad or worth mourning about. It just becomes what it was meant to be looked at: statistics," said Toole. He didn't look at Gurdeaux as he stated his philosophy. His eyes were focused on the soldiers on his side. None of them looked at him or saluted.

"Well, would you mine telling me about the battle? I left early and you were there and…" Gurdeaux began but was interrupted. "Gurdeaux, you didn't leave early. You left at the right time." "Sir, how did you know where I was?" asked Gurdeaux. Toole looked up at him and then forward to make sure their path was clear. Though it had only started, their conversation had already taken them a great distance to the general's office.

"I know, excuse me, knew General Kaiz," Toole said taking a quick look back at Gurdeaux, "and I've known about his acts of torture for a long time. I know what kind of tools he used and in what building he always did it in. You were lucky, remember that. He's tortured some of my men before. I lost a few couriers and drivers to him and he always let me know what exactly happen. When Malist told me you had survived the first fight with the scientists and needed an evacuation, I assumed Kaiz would either find you or kill you. And seeing as you always manage to survive, I guessed you'd be in that building. So, I made sure that at least one chopper checked the contents of the building. When we saw a speeding jeep race through the carnage of the garage floor we guessed it was Kaiz. And when it flipped on its side we landed to make sure our guess was correct. Fortunate for us you were on board as well, making both our problems disappear."

"Why didn't you tell me about Kaiz at the Homewrecker briefing?" Gurdeaux asked the colonel. "Malist didn't deem it vital information or necessary to know," the colonel answered. "If I had known that Tan barbarian was commanding that house I think I would have made more of an effort to fight to the end instead of give up and surrender myself to his forces." "Gurdeaux you did well, accept this fact and move on."

There was a brief pause in their conversation but Gurdeaux picked it back up. "So tell me about the battle strategy," Gurdeaux asked. "For starters," Toole started, "we were supposed to go in by the garage, get you out and then hold the place; that was easy. Then, our orders were to continue our advancement to the insides of the house while maintaining our new territory. We lost more men inside then in the garage, but when the 8th Division came in from GB 13 out of Sector 3, we were finally able to surround the house and take full control of it. I was informed this morning right before I left the garage that our units are now flushing out the last Tan troops from the basement bathroom and the upstairs rooms. They're cornered but fighting stronger than ever."

"What are the total losses?" Gurdeaux asked Toole. Toole remained silent and kept walking alongside Gurdeaux. "Sir, what are the losses?" he asked again. This time, he could not remain silent. Gurdeaux couldn't tell but there seemed to be the formation of a tear in the colonel's eyes as he looked away and then faced him. "Tan losses amount to 220,000 while ours are at about 36,000 troops, 450 tanks and ground vehicles, and about 60 aircraft." "Did Vare and Ickry go home like I told them?" "Yes. We interrogated them for a few hours, gave them a meal and sent them through the portals. They arrive in Fier about six hours ago and we received a message from the personnel on the other side that they had indeed crossed Tan borders and were heading home."

The sergeant breathed a silent side of relief. Finally a real action, involving a true heart, had been accomplished and by the man he thought could never do such. Toole had finally made Gurdeaux's wish of a thoughtful leader come true.

"Malist agreed to let them go and off they went." Gurdeaux didn't respond as he took more steps. He turned away and looked at the men standing along the sides of the pathway. Toole stopped and looked at Gurdeaux. To his left and only a few dozen yards away was Malist's office. He took a view of Gurdeaux, then of the office but went back to eye the man in front of him.

"Sergeant Gurdeaux, because of your invaluable valor, I believe you are to be rewarded. I can't exactly tell you the true reward for I only heard this through a private, making this probably a rumor, but I hear it's great. I don't want to disappoint you if it's not true, but I just want you to look at something positive from this horrible experience."

Standing silent with his lips shut and eyes peering at the ground, Gurdeaux didn't know what to think. After the battles, torture and grotesque things he witnessed, he didn't know if he wished to receive his prize and go on with the war effort. Gurdeaux was beginning to question if there was ever enough for a soldier to go through. He lifted his head and looked at his commander. "Sir…." he started, trailing off as he took a glance at the office ahead of him, "let's just go see Malist."

Toole nodded and let his hand come away from his body, opened and leading the way for Gurdeaux to walk. The two made the short trek to Malist's office and spoke no words to one another. All around them soldiers were running with gurneys, stretchers and boxes. They seemed as though preparing for another attack and at the same time recovering from the previous one.

Gurdeaux couldn't believe, even after fifteen years in the service, the constant and vigorous life styles all of the men. Even he took part in these lively activities when he was of a lower rank, but when he had reached sergeant, his daily rituals of stocking ammunition, making foxholes and training men had subsided.

As Gurdeaux inspected the action around him Toole opened the dark brown door and padded Gurdeaux on the shoulder. Gurdeaux nodded with politeness and walked into the office slowly. His feet were dirty and bringing in outside materials onto the freshly cleaned hardwood floor, but he didn't care.

General Malist sat in his chair, reading a paper he held in one hand. His left hand lay on his desk, fiddling with a pen. The ink began to tap on the papers below, making faint marks. There was a tiny yet thick stack of documents in front of him. The general looked busy but Gurdeaux knew he would soon talk.

Malist didn't look up until Toole closed the door and walked over to his desk. "Sir, he is here," Toole said loudly. "I know that colonel, I could tell when the door opened and shut, and two men came in. If you'd please have a seat, I'm trying to go over data that came out of our world."

Malist's voice was low but firm. Gurdeaux and Toole looked at each other and each took seats. They sat with their backs up straight against their chairs and waited for their leader to speak.

With a heavy sigh, Malist let the paper fly to his desktop and brought his hands together. The pen fell down. His demeanor suddenly changed. A smile came out between his cheeks. "It seems our forces aren't doing so well in our world. They just lost some ground in the Grinn 

Desert and in the Yuto Mountains," said Malist. His smile faded and his eyes looked down. Gurdeaux and Toole did the same but quickly brought their attention back up.

Gurdeaux knew the Yuto area and if they were lost so would the war. They separated the north and north-western borderline of the two nations and extended deep into the Tan's territory. On a map the area looked like an arm, reaching out around the northern ridges of the Green frontier, posing the most conceivable imminent threat.

The snow-capped mountains were high, some reaching fifty thousand feet, becoming a thorn in the nicely laid cloth of clouds. If the Tan forces captured outposts and bases on either side of the mountains it would mean another long campaign to get them back. Gurdeaux was part of the original campaign, the Felix Campaigns, back when the war began.

Stationed in the Hork Forest, the warzone that sat alongside the base of the mountain range and then engulfed the territory in its vicinity, Gurdeaux fought to capture the mountains and did valiantly. It took a year but it led to the Green Army and Air Force keeping control of it for fourteen years.

The Tan most likely captured the northern Green bases, cut their supply routes and took over the stations, then barraged the north-western bases with missiles and gunfire. It was inevitable for the Tan forces to move south and keep the attacks coming.

"Well good morning Sergeant Gurdeaux. I trust your wounds and pain have decreased dramatically since yesterday morning? It looks like you've prevailed once again," said Malist. "You're glorious record will now be updated and honored with more praise from people in our army than you could ever imagine," Malist told him.

Gurdeaux nodded politely but kept his composure so he wouldn't seem flattered or nice about his commander's generous comments. As far as he knew he failed miserably, leaving several men behind, including two live soldiers: Dachun and the pilot Doer.

Malist then backed from his desk and rose off his chair. He started walking to Toole's side, near the window and reached into a little metal box. It was shiny and gold colored but small. It gleamed with all its sides brightening the room with the already illuminating sun.

Opening it gently, Malist checked out the contents inside, smiling at what laid in the encompassing walls, and then pulled out a little finely polished silver colored metal object. It had bright blue and red ribbons: two red streaks on the edges, another in the middle and then two blue stripes on both sides of that. Malist tossed it above his hand and caught the item, closing his fist tightly around everything. Gurdeaux knew what it was and got up. Toole followed and watched Malist as he came over to hand Gurdeaux his medal.

Malist walked slowly, almost pausing to see Gurdeaux's facial reactions as his palm opened up to reveal the object. His right hand stood straight out in front of him and didn't shake.

"On behalf of the Green Nation Army, I am proud to give you this medal, signifying your promotion to Major." Gurdeaux looked down as Malist opened his hand. Gurdeaux examined his new boggle and placed his hand directly atop the medal. The cool pieces touched his palm and Malist's fingers caressed his finger tips as it lay ever restful in his hand.

Gurdeaux took the piece and brought it closer to his body. A work of art, the medal had finally landed its way into Gurdeaux's life. On the piece were two crossed green swords, sitting behind a small silver M. The entire medal was silver and weighed a lot for its size; it was no bigger than a wallet, if that.

"Thank you sir," Gurdeaux replied, lifting his head back to its normal level. He closed his hand and dropped it to his side. Malist brought his hand to his forehead, and then Gurdeaux with his empty hand. Gurdeaux dropped his hand and the Malist did the same. Bringing his left hand back up to his waist, Gurdeaux opened his palm and allowed Malist to take the medal back.

"I'm sorry but you know the protocol we implement: all medals are deposited into your own vault box back in Fier. You'll see it and all the others when you go on leave." Malist's words only put more doubt into Gurdeaux's already gloomy mind. Leave was something one got right after promotion. Now Gurdeaux would have to wait until the end of the war or worse until he ended up in a body bag.

The ceremony was finished and Gurdeaux's military career was now known to be extended. Upon promotion to major, a soldier was guaranteed active duty until a combat situation was over, plus another year of service to the military to train new recruits and future majors.

Malist walked back to the box, tossed the medal back in the box like an empty soda can in the trash, and went back to his desk. He sat, landing on his chair with enough noise to be heard outside, and placed both his hands atop his desk, crossing his fingers over each other. The intertwining made veins in his old knuckles and wrists pop out into visibility.

"I have two more things to say as well. First, I am relieving you from this base. In five minutes I want you on my personal chopper on Pad 2, the one outside my office, and you will be brought over to GB 19 in Sector 12. You will assist in their campaigns for now, until I say otherwise. You're new uniform and insignia patch will come to you shortly. Most likely they will be on your body when you wake up the next morning."

Gurdeaux stood silent, aside Toole and the emptiness of the isolated barrier of Malist's office. "Sir if I may speak, what have you heard on the condition of Dachun and Doer? Has there been any confirmation on their rescue or discovery?"

Malist sighed. "I have heard a report from a chopper that your downed heli was spotted in the kitchen, just as said it crashed, but there has been no discovery of bodies. We're still encountering opposition as more of our forces go into the building but the kitchen and dining room, where Professor Crustov and his men worked, has been completely secured. When I hear more information I will make sure it reaches you."

Gurdeaux nodded but was in no way pleased. Dachun and Doer were hurt badly and if not found immediately they were just as good as dead, something Malist would like for lighter paperwork.

"And finally Major Gurdeaux… doesn't that sound nice?" Malist said, breaking his train of though. "Yes sir," replied Gurdeaux, "it sounds intimidating." "Ah yes, well I also received a claim from the pilot of the chopper that rescued you that General Kaiz may have given you something?"

"Yes sir, he did. As he lay in my lap dying I saw one his shirt pockets opened with a paper sticking out. I took it." Malist nodded in a relaxing manor. "Excellent Major, may I have it?" "Certainly sir," the major responded.

Gurdeaux took a step towards Malist's desk and reached into his shirt pocket. Out came a crumbled, bloody piece of white paper, folded into many squares. "Thank you major. When I fought Kaiz at the beginning of the war he was always full of trickery and sneaky moves, sometimes in the littlest detectable way." "I understand sir," said Gurdeaux, "you can never be 

too sure of even the tiniest of parts. Every piece of the puzzle matters." "Exactly Gurdeaux. I'll inspect it as you leave and decide if it's relevant to anything."

Malist politely took the paper from Gurdeaux and held it with both hands. "Well, I guess that's that. Now…. you are free to go." Malist turned smiled at Gurdeaux. He returned the gesture and made his way past the chairs, the standing colonel and went out the door. Toole slid down and sat in his chair as the major went away.

The door closed quietly as the major left. "Do you think he liked being promoted?" asked Toole. Malist looked him straight in his eyes and sighed. "I believe he did, but like many other boys he would have preferred a leave or a simple discharge. There's no better gift than a discharge from the army, or, at least that was what use to be the case…" Malist's voice faded as his eyes slipped into viewing his door.

Malist unfolded the new document and read it to himself. "What does it say sir?" asked the colonel. "In capital letters it says, 'ALL TAN SOLDIERS, EXCEPT THOSE INVOLVED IN 'THE EXPERIMENT' AND THOSE ON ROOF GUARD, ARE TO REPORT TO THE GARAGE AT 1200 HOURS FOR A BRIEFING ON THE GB 14 ASSUALT, TAKING PLACE TOMORROW AT 0000 HOURS. ALL IN THE HOUSE ESCEPT THOSE MENTIONED ABOVE WILL BE TAKING… it's useless. Probably just another hint from Kaiz that he's lost his mind."

"When did he fall it to dementia?" Toole asked the general. "I think it was about four years ago. I fought with him numerous times and he always had this peculiar chivalry. I remember when some of my assistants were captured from a supply route he treated everyone nicely, but shot one of the poor boys because he refused to speak his name."

"The guy is, excuse me, was a moron. It's kind of nice he fell ill and had his brain turn into spoiled milk. If he hadn't pulled all his forces out of the house, we would have never had a chance at seeing his, excuse me, our newest creation."

"You seem pretty confident that we can use his device in warfare?" Malist asked. "I firmly believe that it is a repugnant attempt at dismantling the civilian societies within our borders but if we need to do the same to his people, I think using this device would be at no lost to us," replied Toole.

"I'm glad you look into the future so optimistically, but it's no longer the future," spoke Malist. Toole became confused by Malist's sentence. "What exactly do you mean?" Keeping his eyes at the door, Malist spoke. "The Tan Air Force has just started bombing cities, in violation of the Civilian Code. The report I read said that the Yuto Mountain bases we lost have given them supremacy in the air in the northern sector, so they decided to kill our women and children. Eight cities have already been hit and the death toll in is the thousands, probably tens of thousands."

Toole sat stunned at the alarming wave of new information. "Those sick jerks. Well we need to counterattack and do the same to them, whatever the cost to our people." Toole's body sat up more and became filled with pumping, raging blood. "I will not sit in this office knowing full well we have families in jeopardy and we aren't doing our part to make those bastards' families miserable. Call the president and make him sign a high order!"

"Colonel Toole, be calm. The report dished out other information as well. We have a new president: some guy named Tyner. He has secretly signed a war bill giving the Air Force Commander General Silt power to bomb any Tan city he wishes."

Malist let out a big sigh as his hand relaxed and flattened out on his desk. "This war has become what all other nations have wanted." Malist blinked and let his head fall back. He recovered his position and looked in Toole's worried eyes.

Toole wiped sweat away from his forehead. "The other nations want us to destroy each other. Without either one of us, they will surely be able to claim back their land from old times. We're screwed, aren't we?" he questioned his commander.

Malist sat up with both his elbows on the desktop. With his hands raised and both his index fingers stretched out, he pointed to the door. "Not if that man stays with us," he said. Malist readjusted himself on his wooden chair and slid down. "If Gurdeaux keeps fighting alongside us, we still have a chance of winning. This report mentioned one last thing as well. Tyner has asked for a proposal to invade the Tan Nation."

Toole squinted in disbelief. "The president wants an invasion? Does he know how many men will die if that happens?" Malist began nodding. "I bet he does. But what I bet he doesn't know is that an invasion has been planned since the start of the war. It's just that we never thought it would lead to such a thing."

"I'm pretty sure we designed the invasion strategy on day one of this war. I was there, remember?" Toole remarked. Malist nodded once again, turning in his chair back to the front of his desk.

Toole and Malist, and even the late Oaken, had appeared at a briefing some fifteen years ago to discuss possible invasion tactics and control strategies once inside Tan lines. The conference ended with a well drawn out plan, along with signatures of all who attended, signifying agreement of the contingency plan. It was never used but almost designated as the primary operation when the war began. Though seen as infallible, the generals and others in 

charge quickly dismantled the troops and battalions who were practicing invasion maneuvers and stuck with the defensive course of war.

"I remember. But now I think it may actually happen," Malist answered. "When?" asked Toole. Malist shrugged and both his hands flopped on top of his desk. His unknowing gesture left Toole to look outside at the scenery. "I hope it's soon," he said. "With Oaken gone we won't hear any opposition should a conference be held again. Our way will be the only way."

Toole sighed and asked "What if they find out about Oaken?" Malist eyed him with disappointment. "I don't know why you still worry about this. My reports said they found his body, buried under some wreckage of a blown up helicopter."

Malist's voice had deep conviction. "You seem to have a lot of reports sir," Toole said. "When you become a general there's nothing more important than reading documents and reports. Wars are fought through men but learned through words, whether written or spoken."

Meanwhile Gurdeaux kept walking from the office, never looking back and breathing quite calmly. He had a little smirk on his face as he approached Malist's personal chopper. The blades roared like a cornered tiger, wrestling the sound barrier and echoing in every neighboring ear.

Gurdeaux reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. It had a Tan stamp mark, possibly made of wax, and was folded so nicely that the corners were sharp enough to draw blood if pressed into skin.

He stepped closer to the chopper and then grabbed onto the outside frame. Inside were the pilot and copilot, chatting away, almost oblivious to the fact that their cargo was about to hop in.

Gurdeaux wrapped his fingers around the metal frame and leaped himself into the belly of the heli, pulling all his weight on a single hand. Once inside he sat down on the floor and looked at the backseat of the copilot.

Out of view, the pilot began switching buttons and control panel instruments into their proper position. The chopper began to levitate It rocked from side to side but quickly regained a steady balance. It moved higher and higher into the air until the people and buildings of GB 14 were nothing more than bite size specs.

Gurdeaux began to wonder if he'd get a vacation for his bravery and exceptional performance in the heat of danger. Single handedly he almost brought into the hands of the Green Army one of the most feared and ruthless generals known in the history of the war. Instead there was just a corpse, somewhere in a freeze, waiting to be examined, processed and then either sent home or kept for a later exchange: perhaps for Gurdeaux's body.

He wasn't mad at Malist, but just wanted a vacation. Even a day from this world would have been all he would have needed to stay stable. But now, knowing that he had more battles to fight with other men, he started to ponder if he'd even survive to see the end of the war. The entire mission contained so much action a movie could not capture its glory and essence. All the sights Gurdeaux witnesses were nothing short of pure action. From the small crash of the helicopter in the chimney, to the TEG battle in the closet, followed by the helicopter crash and brief dog fight, and ending with the climactic garage invasion by Toole and Malist's men, it was an awesome ride.

Getting his attention from the previous hours and days Gurdeaux looked back at his paper and opened it. The ink was black with no smears and yet still looked fresh. Gurdeaux didn't know what to expect, if anything at all, from Kaiz letter.

His eyes went to the top of the page and began reading the finely typed print: From: GGM - To: TGK – Sir, we have prepared our troops. The ball is in your army's court. Make the first move. Play as you wish but in the end you know what you will gain. The odds are in our and your favor. Play smart and we'll see you at the finish line.

Gurdeaux didn't understand the message. The letters next to the words To and From didn't ring a bell. GGM and TGK didn't seem like titles or names. If anything they were abbreviations or acronyms. GGM? Gurdeaux pondered on these letters, but then returned to the message itself.

There was no stationary at the top of the letter, no signature or impression of a signer at the bottom. This was a very secret message, almost too confidential for Gurdeaux's taste.

GGM? TGK? The only man he knew off the bat with a name with the letter K was Kaiz, but what could the T and G stand for. T must have meant "The" or "Tan" or… Tan… maybe that was it. Gurdeaux examined the letter more closely and started a reel of flashbacks in his head.

Moving pictures lit up in his eyes: helicopter rides, bombs going off, fireballs, guns being shot, men falling, men dead on the ground, Tan and Green soldiers running at one another with bayonets. But he still couldn't get the letters T and G to really sound the alarm.

If T stood for Tan, and K for Kaiz, then the G must have been his first name, or title of General: Tan General Kaiz… that made sense. And the GGM would have meant Green General… Malist.

Gurdeaux dropped the paper but caught it in midair. Kaiz and Malist had communicated with one another. Malist's eagerness to know what Kaiz had handed him, the way Kaiz shifted 

his eyes to his open shirt pocket, the way he constantly reached for the same pocket that held the note.

Things were getting simple and solved, and at the same time scary. Malist had no reason to talk to Kaiz, that was what a logical person would say, but now that they had all logic had to be thrown out the window.

Gurdeaux brought his free left hand to his face and massaged his cheeks and lips. He thought hard on what was in front of him and looked back at the note. The words "Make the first move" signified a beginning, a beginning to what? The fights that occurred in the past days? An attack from years ago? That made some sense but surely it couldn't have been something miniscule as a battle between the two foes. A confidential letter such as thing had to signify something of great importance. But what?

The chopper began turning to the right and was now over the streets of the New World. Down below were blue, green and red cars, parked silently against the grey sidewalks that concealed them in this gigantic neighborhood.

Gurdeaux brought his attention back to the letter. A big event had happened in the past. The major began to recall Malist's words: "When I fought Kaiz at the beginning of the war…" The lights flashed and the final horse crossed the finish line. It all made sense now.

Kaiz and Malist had started this war with each other, having an agreement installed before any combat could occur. There was a mutual, unspoken contract between the two. But if these two, men of great importance to their nation's army and military strength, could have gotten away with such an abhorrent negotiation, then others must have been involved, for if Malist had been caught he would have been hung by now.

The war Gurdeaux had fought for the past fifteen years was now a futile display of secretive measures, taken by the men put in charge of everything that went on the battlefield. Anyone could be involved at this stage. In Gurdeaux's mind Toole had to be a suspect. Any other men working for Malist had to be involved and needed to be charged in an instant to protect any further soldiers from dying in a worthless act of greed and lust. What Malist wanted Gurdeaux didn't know, but what was for sure was Malist's acts.

He had started a war for no reason and was now using it for gains, but what? There were no resources in the Tan Nation not already in the Green Nations. The only gain would be land, territory and security from other threats. Gurdeaux could see this as the only possible explanation for the vile actions of Malist.

Kaiz and Malist had maliciously placed the lives of millions of people for their own benefit. What else had Malist done? Gurdeaux recalled Oaken's chopper being blown up, twice. Malist made no mention of this. Could Oaken have been silenced to protect the plans of Malist and the others?

But surely Gurdeaux was over thinking. He had known Malist for over fifteen years and had become almost like a son to him. There was no way a general as refined and reliable as Malist could start a hideous war with such a monster like Kaiz.

Gurdeaux shrugged off the notion of the war being started by them and folded up the note. This was something important and he didn't want to lose. He stuffed it deep into his pocket and put his hands back on the handles next to him. Malist was a good man, not a traitor. Oaken's chopper blowing up twice: probably just a mortar. The major put a smile back on his face and kept thinking, "It's not for me to know. He'll tell me one day but not now."

Though it was drilling deep into his mind to know why Kaiz wanted him to have this note and why Malist was so interested did seem askew and intriguing. But the trick Gurdeaux had played with Malist back at his office was futile and didn't do anything except make things more complicated. Gurdeaux understood the role of leaders. Sometimes they had to make agreements with the enemy to survive or to what they wanted. It was common in the old wars, unheard of now, but the practice may have been getting a rebirth or new growth amongst the higher ranks. Gurdeaux closed his eyes and kept his smile. Everything was okay, complex, but nothing to worry about. He drowned out the notions of Malist performing wrong doing and turned his attention back to thinking about his next possible assignment. And to top it off Malist had sent home Vare and Ickry, so Gurdeaux thought. If that were the truth than there was no way Malist could be involved in something so despicable.

Before Gurdeaux could think more on the new mission, his chopper landed. Gurdeaux got up and let his legs hang over the side. As his chopper approached the base, he hadn't bothered to look down. It wasn't big but it had huge buildings. They were all skyscrapers and long. Four of them stood, with guard posts in between them, towering over the tallest of men. Gurdeaux saw few soldiers on the dirt ground or conducting any sort of activity. However, there was a man coming toward him, and he had a cap on.

Gurdeaux jumped off the chopper and walked to the man. He was almost as tall as Gurdeaux, thin and pale but still wore a cap. He was of high importance, probably the leading superior of the base.

When the two came within a foot or two of each other, the unidentified man stuck out his hand. Gurdeaux did the same and shook. The grip was strong on him, but Gurdeaux counteracted and squeezed the man's hand tightly.

"I'm General Lief and welcome to GB 19," said the man, still holding on to Gurdeaux's hand. Lief let go and smiled. "Almost everyone is being briefed on the tomorrow morning's mission. You will be too sergeant."

Gurdeaux didn't make any facial expression as he looked into the Lief's eyes. He didn't frown or smile. All he did was keep a straight face and a tall stance. "It's major," he said to the general. "What?" Lief responded. "I'm Major Gurdeaux. I'm not a sergeant," Gurdeaux replied. The general raised his eyebrows. Gurdeaux didn't know whether he was embarrassed or confused. The word of his promotion had not gotten out yet, but in a short amount of time everyone around him would know his new rank.

"So general," began Gurdeaux, "what am I doing tomorrow?"


End file.
